Assassin's Healer
by WritingPhotographer
Summary: Vivian had lived with her father and brother her entire life, working as the village healer. When she's accused of witchcraft, her savior comes from an unlikely source. Duke Chael, is an intimidating man. Amid his life of shadows and secrets, can he win the heart of the one he loves before she's taken from him forever? Beauty and the Beast spin off.
1. Chapter 1

**So looking through some of the old files on my computer, I came across this story. I had totally forgotten about it! Thought I'd share it and get some feedback. Let me know what you think! Reviews are totally welcome!  
**

* * *

The surface of the counter, worn smooth through many years of use, reflected the sunlight as it streamed through the front windows, mirroring the happy mood of the two women within. Vivian smiled as she placed the small bag of herb into the lady's palm. "There you go milady. That should keep your cough down for a while. Come back when you run out."

Putting her coins in Vivian's hands, she thanked the healer, "Thank ye miss. I appreciate it." The woman left the store, the bell above the door jingling.

Bending down to restock and categorize her herbs, she grinned as she heard her brother come into the shop. "Vivi! Help! They're after me!"

The smiled dropped from her face as she turned around at the panic in her brother's voice, she gasped as a squad of soldiers barreled into the shop, the poor doorbell ringing frantically. Her ten-year-old brother jumped behind the counter and cowered behind her.

The first soldier turned to her. "Miss if you turn the boy over you won't be charged with helping the murderer."

"Murderer?" she gasped. "How is my brother a murderer?"

"He used poison nightshade to kill the butcher." muttered one of the other soldiers.

"Nightshade!" Exclaimed Vivian, "but that was a mixture of nightshade and allspice to help his digestive system. It should have…"

"What! You knew of this concoction?" Drawing his sword he pointed it at them. "You are both under arrest for murder." Immediately the soldiers closed in on them. Not wanting to be taken, her brother scrambled over the counter and up onto the shelves. "Get him!"

Vivian took advantage of the confusion, reached beneath the counter and grabbed hold of some of the ash from the cooking fires, not only was it good for the washing of teeth, but it was helpful in creating distractions. Mentally berating herself for thinking of the healing usages at a time like this, she brought her hand up. Throwing a fist full of fine ash in the air, she watched the soldiers cough and sputter, losing her brother through one of the vents to outside.

"You!" The lead soldier turned on her. "Not only are you a murderer, but you are also a witch as well! You will be burned for this."

True panic gripped Vivian's throat once more. "No! I am not a witch! It's nothing but ash!"

"Gag the witch and tie her, we are bringing her to his Lordship."

Vivian fought weakly; there was no way that she would get away from an entire squad of soldiers. Her only hope was that her brother could get to her father fast enough to tell him of the danger. Perhaps he could convince Morven that she was no witch.

Tied and gagged, they dragged her from her shop, the bell ringing above her merrily, mocking her distress. People gathered in clumps, murmuring behind their hands, casting worried glances towards her.

The guard dragged her none to gently up the cobbled street, not needing to make room in the crowd as it spilt before them. As the way opened up, Vivian was rewarded with a view of the stone castle…the castle that had become almost a second home to her. Lord Morven had become a constant fixture in her life, just like the solid stone before her. He was the Lord of the valley, and perhaps the best thing that had happened to her. Morven owned the entire vale, a gift from the king for valiant efforts in the war a few years earlier. He had become more than a brother to her, yet as she approached the keep…it seemed to grow dark and foreboding…cold.

Upon entering the keep, Vivian shuddered. The air was stale and rot ridden through the gag. Breathing in was laborious because of the fear constricting her throat, made all the harder with the gag tied around her mouth. Stopping when they stood before the large doors to the audience chamber, one soldier slipped into the room while the rest stood guard, tension was corded thick throughout the room…nothing moved.

* * *

Morven sat on his chair, listening to the dispute. The two peasants had been at it for over an hour, their bickering grew tiring. It was with great relief, and a hope of diversion, when the guard entered the room, casting a curious glance at the two peasants. Morven motioned him forward quickly.

The guard's heavy footsteps quieted the two peasants who stood before him. As silence descended on the room Morven smiled at the blessed relief. The guard's eyes fidgeted as he twisted his hands before him. "Your Lordship, we have apprehended a woman who is accused of a crime."

Morven rolled his eyes. "Not another one." Rubbing his for head, he asked, "Who is it and for what crime are they arrested?"

"My Lord, we arrested Vivian Raen for poisoning the blacksmith…"

* * *

Moments later a thundering yell shook the hallway. "What! You arrested Vivian! You fools, she is a healer, not a poisoner!" The doors flew open to reveal the Lord of the manor. Dressed in purple and silver he appeared immaculate with the exception of his brown hair which was mussed in a boyish sort of way that she had learned to like. His brown eyes warmed at the sight of her.

"But my Lord, she poisoned the butcher with nightshade and then she used magic on us to help the boy escape!"

Lord Morven came to a sharp stop, any welcome that had been on his face disappeared. "Magic?"

"Yes sir, magic. Threw it into the air and b-blinded us it did. The b-boy got through our fingers because of it." The soldier stammered.

A hard look transformed Morven's face. "If this is true, then leave the boy. The woman obviously used her knowledge of the dark arts to kill the butcher and help her brother escape. She will be tried and burned in three days' time." He then looked harshly at her. "Have you anything to say?"

Knowing that now would be the only time to speak Vivian nodded her head. A soldier glanced at Morven who nodded in return. The gag was taken from her mouth. "My Lord, please, all I did was throw ash into the air to help my brother escape. If you look underneath the counter you will find a box of ash."

"I care not what I will find now. You will have turned it into ash to fool us. Witchcraft is forbidden and by law must be punished by burning at the stake. Now if you have any more you wish to say, say it now."

Thinking hard she came up with a wild answer, "Trial by combat. I ask for a trial by combat."

Morven was stunned, "And who would fight for you?"

"My father, he is but a day of hard riding away. If you would send a messenger to him he could be here for the trial."

Morven looked at her hard betraying no emotion. "You are willing to risk your life on a chance your father can make it here?"

"I have no other choice!" she cried. "Whatever else I may do will be considered witchcraft, I am doomed either way." She stopped to gulp in air, "Please, at least give me some hope." Falling to her knees she sobbed, the full reality of the accusations hitting her. She would either die by fire, or be set free by her father. The latter was only a slim hope, for she knew her father could never beat whatever champion Morven put forth.

"Well. I shall have a letter written to your father. If he does not come or send another in his place within three days, you will burn. If your father does manage to win, you may be free. You may not however, continue to reside anywhere within my land. You will be an exile and a fugitive. Anyone will have leave to kill you. Do you understand these conditions?"

"Yes my Lord."

"Gag her once again. Then take her to the dungeons. I wish to see her no more." Turning on his heel he left her to the soldiers who took her roughly to the dank, dark dungeons.

* * *

Morven watched her fall to her knees. She would either die by fire, or be set free by her father. The latter was only a slim hope.

Turning on his heel he left her to the soldiers who took her roughly to dungeon. He did not wish to show anyone his face, for his heart was reflected there, his devotion burning like a smoldering coal. Not knowing how he would live, he entered his bed chamber and pulled out a piece of paper.

* * *

Donnel glared at the message. It was written day before and had traveled far. It was a plea, pure and simple. He had long known of the affection Lord Morven had for his daughter. He had known about it when he left for his trip, and he had been fairly certain that Morven was going to find a way to propose to Vivian. However the letter changed everything. Looking at the messenger he nodded, telling him there was no reply.

As soon as the messenger had departed, Donnel began his hasty preparations. Morven had written him, pleading him to come quickly, for Vivian's sake. She had been accused of witchcraft. She had then pleaded for a trial by combat. Opening his chest where he kept his ancient armor he sighed. He had fought with the king and Morven years before in the Great War, but now he was older, out of practice, and his reactions were slow.

Moving quicker he armed and clothed himself for battle. The town he now posted at, Y'alter, was a day's ride from the Morven Keep. With armor he would be hard pressed to reach there before the trial started tomorrow. The few moments it took to gather food and money seemed to stretch on forever. Then in the minutes it took to saddle his horse he thought of his daughter, and his son. Neither one would ever hurt anyone, even a fly. It hurt him to think that others believed that his daughter had poisoned a man and used witchcraft to help Alex escape.

Galloping out of the city gates he prayed that he would make it in time. He prayed that he would be able to free his daughter.

* * *

The sun was reaching its height in the sky when the attack came. Five men on horseback charged Donnel. Outrunning them was not an option. His horse was tired and he still had a long ways to go. The bandits were coming from his rear and seemed to be herding him somewhere. When he realized this he pulled his horse up sharp, better to face them now than when he was in their lair.

He drew his sword and wheeled his horse around to face the oncoming men. When the first reached him, there was a clash of steel and their swords connected. The first horsemen spun around his back while the second and third circled him. The last two stopped their horses before him. One grinned evilly, "Give us your goods and you will go free."

"And if I don't?" replied Donnel.

"You die."

* * *

Lochlan glared out the tower window. The storm clouds above seemed to threaten rain, but he knew better, it never fell. Just as he was about to turn from his brooding, a figure caught his attention. A knight, in bashed armor laid across his horse, was coming up the way, approaching the old castle. Scowling once more he moved towards the stairs, yelling for someone to attend to the man.

As he walked slowly down the steep steps he stopped, a stricken look on his face. Rushing back up the stairs he hooked the glass covering over his finger. Carefully moving towards the small table he placed the covering back over the crystal vase. Once it was safely secure he breathed a sigh of relief.

The vase, and all it held, was his last hope. There was no way that he could forget about it. It was unthinkable that he could allow any damage to befall his only chance at a normal life.

A soft knock at his door reminded him of the world, the bitter cruel world in which he now lived. "What is it?"

"Sir, the man who has just ridden up is awake, but just barely so sire. If you should like to question him, I would recommend doing it before he loses himself to sleep sire."

"Very well. In which room is he in?"

"The entrance way at the moment sire. He is badly wounded, most likely set upon by those rotten bandits that have lurked around of late." The servant responded through the door.

"I shall be but a moment." Lochlan said, trying not to snap in annoyance. He was usually left alone, brought only enough food to sustain himself, by the servants. They stayed clear of him and he had no use for them except meals and cleaning. Glancing one last time at the vase he turned and left the room, careful to lock the door securely behind him. He took the steep steps two at a time, ever careful not to roll an ankle.

The castle was poorly lit, and it wasn't for lack of candles. The candles stood in each of their holders, unlit. No one ever visited and Lochlan preferred the dark. Light made him feel exposed. Throwing open the doors, he strode purposefully into the entry hall. The man lay on the ground, servants attempting to remove the armor from his body. At his approach, they scurried away.

Lochlan looked down on the man. Upon closer inspection he could see the bloodied lips and the blackened eye. Crouching down he put his hand on the man's shoulder. "What has belayed you good sir?"

"Bandits attacked me just over the hill, your lordship." The man coughed and spit up blood.

"Your name sir, and then tell me why you are riding this way in full battle armor."

"Donnel Raen is my name. As for my reason, my daughter has been accused of witchcraft; I go to fight for her freedom, a trial by combat. However, now I have no hope. She will be burned at the stake because I have failed her."

"Your daughter, what has she done to deserve this accusation?" Lochlan asked, only a slight bit interested.

"She is an herbalist, she lives in Morovia. She had her brother deliver a concoction to a customer; he took too much and poisoned himself. Her brother came back, and to help him escape, she threw ash in the air." Another cough racked his body.

An herbalist from Morovia…Lochlan's heart thumped. "Your daughter, her name?"

"Vivian, Vivian Raen."

Lochlan closed his eyes. Vivian. The name rolled through him…

He was shocked out of his reflections by Donnel's hand, strangely firm upon his arm, "Lordship, I beg of you a favor. Send a servant to fight for my daughter, and I will give you anything I can. Save her, please!" His eyes were bright with fervor.

A plan clicked into place within Lochlan's head. "If I go, and win this trial by combat, will you give me the Master's Rights?"

Donnel sucked in his breath, and then looked him in the eye, hesitating long enough that he believed he would not grant his demand. "I will…on the condition you do not abuse her."

"Abuse a woman! I would never." Lochlan looked up towards his servants. "Take this man upstairs and tend to him. Then order my armor brought out. Fetch the stable master. I ride tonight." The servants scrambled to do his bidding. "And fetch provisions for two." He shouted to no one in particular, knowing the orders would be fulfilled.

Donnel lost consciousness then, welcoming the blackness now that he had hope his mission would not go unfinished.

Lochlan stood, straightening from his crouch. "Master's Rights." He whispered to himself. To think that he would have the right of a Father, and of a Master, over the only woman who held his heart captive. She would live in his house, and be treated as a guest of honor, and someday, he hoped, she would run his household. Then reality sunk in. By claiming Master's Rights, he would be holding her prisoner, a captive, in the very house he hoped she would run and be mistress of.

"Your Grace, you sent for me."

Lochlan nodded, "Ah yes. I did. I need Midnight saddled. I travel to Morovia tonight."

"Of course your grace, I will see that it is done."

"Good." He turned on his heel and strode to his chambers, where his servants were working quickly to assemble his armor. Caring nothing for the servants watching, he grabbed new clothing and put it on. The servants then began piecing his armor together. When at last his sword belt was buckled on, he strode from his room, helm in hand.

Midnight pawed the ground and snorted at the sight of his master. The lance was suspended on the side of the saddle, ready for quick use, on the other side hung his black beveled edge shield. Black with a silver dagger encircled by flames, his coat of arms would strike fear into any man.

Mounting without the use of a mounting block, he swung up and turned to look at his servants. "Prepare the best guest room for Miss Raen. I shall be back within two days, one if all goes well." With that he turned Midnight and galloped through the gate, nearly grinning as he slid his helm onto his head.


	2. Chapter 2

Morven stood on the dais, looking on as the wood was stacked around Vivian. He had been ready to propose to her once. In fact, he had been walking out of the keep to propose when she had been brought in. But now, how could he propose? She had been accused of witch craft. The one crime there was no way to prove innocence. He had sent a letter to her father, begging he come to her aid, but he had not come, and now he had to watch the woman he loved burn.

He looked to Vivian who stood tall, her long black hair stark in contrast against her simplistic white dress. She looked towards him, something close to hate filled her eyes and he looked away, unable to bear it. A crowd had gathered to witness the execution, yet the open field for combat stood empty except for the law's champion. He glanced out at the crowd once more. He thought he saw a fleeting glimpse of Alex, Vivian's brother, but he couldn't be sure.

"Your Lordship, all is ready for your signal sire."

Morven looked towards Vivian once again. She stood bound and gagged to the post, firewood and oil surrounding her. "Wait for my command. I must address the people first." The soldier nodded and left the dais. Morven took a deep breath and looked to the crowd. "People of Morovia, we are here today to witness the execution of Vivian Raen. Accused of witch craft, she has demanded the right to combat by trial. If any of you would now stand for her as a champion, come forth now." Although he had little hope any one would come forth, Morven shuddered, each of these people had been helped by Vivian, and each person had a child or grandparent who had needed her herbs and cures. Many would die this winter because she would not be there.

When no one stepped forth he drew in a breath, steeling himself for what he must do. "Very well then, as no champion is forth coming…"

"Stop!" Someone from the crowd cried. "There is a rider coming from the hills!"

Morven whirled around, his cloak whipping in the air. A black charger was approaching, the rider was in black armor, a black plume flew in the air behind him, attached to his helm. As he drew nearer, Morven fought to discern the coat of arms on the shield. When the charger was finally near enough, he gasped. For it was none other than Duke Chael of Claymore Castle.

The Duke's charger galloped up to the dais, the crowd parting before him with stunning swiftness. The horse's shod hooves rang against the cobblestones. "I am come for a trial by combat, in defense of Vivian Raen. I will fight any and all comers." The horse snorted as if to punctuate his master's challenge.

Morven could feel the hostility rolling off the Duke. He had fought in the war with this harshly disciplined man, a man who was rumored to be king's assassin. In the war, Morven had never seen Chael smile, had never seen him without his arsenal of daggers and swords, and had never seen him vulnerable for even one moment. The man seated on his horse in front of him now, was a legend, and that legend had hated him from the moment of his enlistment in the king's army. "Your Grace," Morven started, swallowing convulsively, "how wish you to compete, on horse or foot?"

The horse pawed the ground and shook its head, causing the bridle to jingle ominously. "I will face all comers." The menacing voice came through the visor; Morven could picture only too well the hate that would be radiating from the man's eyes.

"Very well, your Grace, if you would go to the end of the lists near…the…the accused…" he stuttered off as the horse galloped away from him.

* * *

Lochlan shook with rage at the sight of Vivian. Her head now leaned against the pole, her eyes cast towards heaven, a gag and ropes stopped all hope of movement or speech. The fire fuel around her was caught on her dress, snagging the coarse material, digging into her legs and feet. The white dress she wore was little more than a bed sheet sewn together.

His heart leaped as she turned her head to look straight at him. Although he knew she could not see him through his armor, he felt exposed, open. As her eyes drilled into him, he brought his horse up short. Then he brought his arm up to his chest, and planted his fist solidly over his heart. The salute took her back, then fire rose in her eyes and she nodded her acceptance, so slight that he was not sure that he had seen it.

Fury rose again within him as Morven's champion rode out. The man was decked in green, a tree printed on his shield. His white horse shied away from the crowd as it entered the hastily constructed list. Unhooking his lance from the saddle, Lochlan placed himself in position. A servant ran over to him, holding a second lance. Sweeping it away with a wave of his hand he heard the crowd murmur in confusion, all thinking him overconfident.

In the center of the list, Lochlan watched as the flag came up and the bearer jumped out of the way. Midnight leaped into a as a war horse, Midnight could outperform the best horses in the realm. The white horse never had a chance to reach its full speed as Lochlan and Midnight bore down on it. The lance connected solidly, shattering with a sound of shattering bone…

_The man was awake…he wasn't supposed to be awake. Spinning into a kick his leg flew up, smashing the man across the face; felt the neck snap beneath his blow. He spiraled to the ground…dead…a noise in the hall made him flinch…soldiers…_

_The transformation hurt, it always hurt. Running…running on four legs…arrows flew towards him, not yet able to reach him. Faster…run faster…then there was an edge, soldiers blocked the way back…_

_The air flew by him; air was everywhere, above him and below. Then he connected to the ground…solid…shattering…pain…soldiers…run…_

The crash of armor was deafening as the man was hurled to the ground, his horse rearing above him as Midnight thundered forward towards the dais, coming to a stop only after sliding on his hind hooves, rearing, and landing hard enough to stop his momentum. In a clipped tone Lochlan addressed Morven, "Send out the next champion." He spit the final word, filling it with distain and loathing.

Feeling slightly satisfied when Morven swallowed hard and gestured for another champion, Lochlan turned Midnight and galloped back to where Vivian was tied. Dropping the broken lance, he dismounted, his armor making nary a sound. Slowly he watched the new champion approach; the unhorsed knight was nowhere to be seen. The man held a sword and a shield so Lochlan pulled his sword out of the saddle sheath and hoisted his shield once more over his arm. Striding forward he matched the man pace for pace.

The flag bearer held up the flag, then dropped it and raced for the side lines. Moments later the ring of steel on steel rang out, making people wince. Swinging his sword in large arcs, he brought the broadsword down in crushing blows that dented armor and bruised bone each time it connected.

The fight dragged on, the two men below maneuvering in a deadly dance of lethal grace. Morven looked to Vivian, who stood straighter now, a small spark of hope burning in her brilliant eyes. She looked up at him, her eyes piercing his very soul. He had to look away, knowing the charge of witchcraft was false, but he couldn't fight it unless he wished to alienate the very people he ruled. Then turning back to the fight, he looked at the powerful figure of the Duke. If he had been any other man, he would have fallen on his knees and thanked him for preserving Vivian's life. For he had no doubt that the Duke of Claymore would win, would humiliate every opponent sent against him.

He winced at an especially hard clash of screeching metal; only to gnash his teeth as yet another champion was bested.

* * *

Lochlan rolled his shoulders back, trying not to show discomfort. His armor had taken a beating, along with his body. He had bested each champion in jousting, sword, mace, and archery. Now he stood alone on the lists, looking at Morven through his visor. He smiled as he watched him fidget, grinning when he stood, and held his hand up for quiet.

"People of Morovia," he paused, "Vivian Raen's champion has been successful in trial by combat!" He paused once more and looked down at Lochlan. "She is hereby released into her champion's care. However!" He had to shout now; the crowd was agitated, restless at the fear of witchcraft being released. "Silence!" he bellowed. "She is released, but hereby banished from Morovia! After tonight, anyone who sees her is to kill her on sight. This is my decree."

Lochlan strode towards Vivian. A soldier stepped up behind her as he mounted Midnight. She was cut loose, and her gag removed. Riding up to her, he held out his hand. She took it and he swung her up in front of him and spurred Midnight south.

To hold her hand, and smell the faint hint of sage of her hair…he simultaneously smiled and frowned beneath the visor of his helm.

_His sides hurt, his leg was shattered, broken at least…the cold air stung his sides. The stones beneath him were becoming slick with blood…his blood…_

_The scent of sage wafted over him, bringing him back from the edge of blackness. He tried to move, tried to see what was approaching. A face swam before his eyes, green eyes sparkled in the moonlight, her black hair glistening blue in the small alley way._

_Her hand moved forward, he growled… "Shhh, I am here to help you." Her voice was melodic notes, chiming from the darkness. Pushing back pain and fear… "Stand up, come with me." Gentle hands helped him stand, and helped him into a warmly lit kitchen. _

_Warmth…_

_Sage…_

Vivian rubbed her arms, trying to create friction. The sun was setting and taking its warmth with it. The knight behind her shifted, and suddenly, a cloak was thrown around her, effectively barring the cold from her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, although I should have given it to you sooner." His rich baritone rolled over her, causing her to shiver. They rode in silence for a few minutes.

"Sir, may I ask a question?" she asked hesitantly.

"Of course, ask anything you want."

She smiled and pulled the cloak around her. "I had assumed my father would come for me, I guess what I am asking is, why have you come in his place? Not that I am ungrateful, not in the least! I just, my father does not have the money to hire someone with as much obvious skill as you…"

"He didn't hire me. He is currently recuperating from a bandit attack. He was on his way to your 'trial' when he was ambushed by a bunch of good-for-nothing highway robbers. He barely made it to my gate and inside the doors before he lost consciousness. Before he was lost to the waking world, he…begged me to go in his stead." He stopped. Unsure whether to tell her of the price he had demanded in return for saving her. However her next question interrupted and settled his decision.

"Sir," she paused and gulped nervously, "what payment do we owe you for this?"

"That can be discussed with your father when we return to the keep." He kept his tone clipped, discouraging any attempt at discussion. Then, changing the topic, he spoke again, "There are no inns that I wish to be known at tonight. We will ride on and reach the keep within a few hours at the least. I know it is not comfortable, but forgive the accommodations."

Vivian almost smiled, however she was troubled by the sharp retort to the subject of payment. She was completely in the dark and unaware of the type of payment that would be necessary for a lord, for that was what she assumed him to be… "Sir, if I may?"

He grunted a noncommittal answer that made her mouth twitch into a half smile.

"Lord Morven seemed especially surprised at seeing you appear…and your armor befits someone of rank…along with your horse, no normal knight could boast such grandeur…may I ask after your position, um rank…?"

* * *

Lochlan grinned, he had entirely discomfited her, she was completely out of her element. "Perhaps I am but a poor farmer who has accidentally ridden off with a knight's attire and horse?"

"I very much doubt that sir, you ride too well for a farmer. Not to mention your skill in the arena. Any knight, who would let such trappings be taken from him, would not have such, for he would be lazy and fat…the armor would not have fit you."

Lochlan looked down at the light pressure on his forearm. Vivian sat tracing the etchings within the armor, old rues of protection, many which no one knew any more. Mostly they were used for decoration, inlaying the armor with golden designs had once been the fashion. His, were however, not filled in, just etched into the metal.

"You also spoke of a keep; something a farmer would not own or visit frequently while rescuing damsels in distress."

He laughed, "So I gave myself away before you even voiced the question."

"More or less."

"Does it deeply intrigue you? Must you know now?" he asked, half hoping to postpone the obvious. He wished to keep the casualness, as unexpected as it was, between them. One would have thought that after going through an ordeal such as she had, that she would be more guarded and hesitant about talking openly with a stranger.

"I would like to know what to address you as."

"You truly don't know?" he didn't know whether to be insulted or indifferent to the fact that she had no idea who he was. For he did not socialize much within Morovia, in fact he had avoided it for much of his life. But to not know about someone of his rank within a day's ride of where she lived was almost unimaginable.

"No, I do not." She whispered, and he imagined she sounded slightly unsure in her answer.

He rode in silence a moment. Listening to the sound of the night, for now it had truly fallen, the stars were peering out from the sky, the moon lighting their way down the road. Suddenly she turned and grasped his arm through the armor.

"What of the bandits you spoke of! Will they not still be here?"

Lochlan pulled Midnight up, stopping their progress as Vivian's vivid green eyes looked up at him, her black hair…

_… __green eyes sparkled in the moonlight, her black hair glistening blue…_

He shook himself mentally and dug his heels into Midnight's flank, spurring him into a canter. "The bandits won't dare attack us." He hoped she believed him. The last thing he needed was a hysterical girl to add to his growing concerns. He almost wrapped his arm around her to comfort her; instead he gripped the reins tighter and briskly ordered her to pull her cloak tighter.

They rode in silence for an hour before Vivian broached the topic of rank once more. "You never told me."

"Told you what?" he snapped.

"Your title…" she whispered, almost too softly for him to hear.

He sighed and gave into the inevitable, "I am the seventh Duke of Claymore, First Commander of the King's Private Army."

He felt Vivian stiffen immediately, becoming immobile in the saddle before him. "Your Grace, forgive me, I had no idea!" she paused, then her voice hitched, and a half strangled sob tore from her throat. "My father, does he…does he know?"

"I am sure that someone on my staff has told him by now, if he is awake. There was no time for pleasantries when we met."

* * *

Vivian prayed for deliverance. Her father had, as unwilling a participant as he may have been, put their future into the hands of the second most powerful man in the kingdom. He had ridden into the castle, for she was certain that it was no small keep, of the Duke of Claymore, the King's right hand, the man who sat behind her, exuding power like none she had ever met, even before she had known him for himself. She fell silent and sat up straighter in the saddle, determined to lean on him no more. He was a man of power and she was surprised he had allowed her to lean on him so casually without a harsh word or warning.

His deep voice cut into her thoughts, "You will freeze if you distance yourself, return to your previous position."

"Your Grace, I couldn't! It would be improper!" she cried, half afraid of retribution.

"And why would it be improper since we have passed half the journey thus?" he growled, his tone reflecting his annoyed manner.

She flinched, and answered quietly, "Because before I did not know who so kindly gave me his warmth, but now that I know, I fear that I am no longer worthy of even riding your magnificent steed."

A noise escaped his mouth, half growl, and half grunt. Then, before she knew what was happening, his arm snaked around her and pulled her against him, holding her there with an arm like iron. "Do not resist. I am sure the metal of my armor will be very vexing if you chaff against it."

* * *

The castle was lit. It was never lit for anything other than a grand event. Candles burned in the windows, the fires blazed in the hearth, all creating an illusion of welcome. He reigned Midnight in. It was well past his namesake hour, and Lochlan was fighting the shift with vengeance. He would pay for it he knew, but there was no way he could have shifted with Vivian in front of him.

The great doors opened and Lochlan dismounted, and grabbed Vivian by her waist. A groom ran up and took Midnight away. Bathilde, his housekeeper stepped through the door. "Vivian, go with Bathilde, she will tend to your needs and see you settled in. Tomorrow you may see your father, tonight rest. You have had a very harrowing experience. Until tomorrow," He bowed to her and then strode off into the darkness, towards the far gardens.

As soon as he was away from the puddles of light, streaming from the castle windows, Lochlan felt his control slipping. He felt his face lengthening, then the shift over took him and the pain washed over him, crowding out every thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Vivian woke, shrouded in silken bed sheets and warmth. The air smelled of warm chocolate and cinnamon. Sitting up and glancing around the room, she spotted the origin of the smell. The tray sat on a small table just a few feet away. She stood, throwing the sheets off of her. Her feet hit the ground. Moving towards the tray she smiled as her stomach growled.

Taking the covers off the food she gasped. Not only was there hot chocolate, but also rolls slathered in cinnamon and glaze, and peaches; peaches cut into small cubes and sprinkled with sugar. All three delicious food items stunned her to awe. In all her life she had never eaten, or been given the choice to eat so many and so much of the delicacies laid out before her.

The best peach orchards were in Elsterin, and since the Great War, no one could obtain the sweet fruit without a high tax and special charters from the king. The rolls, commonly known as cinnamon twists, were a festival treat, given at the last harvest of the year. The chocolate was for the rich. As a healer she had only ever tasted of it when Morven had given it to her as payment for a cough.

She gripped the table, unsure as what to do. Surely these weren't for her. She could never accept them, for they would put her even farther into Duke Claymore's debt.

As soon as the thought entered her mind, a maid knocked on the door and entered. "M'lady, there is a bath waiting for you just through here when you are finished with your breakfast." She curtsied and went to tend the fire which had burned low during the night.

"Surely you don't mean this is for me!" Vivian said, gesturing towards the tray.

"Well Miss, whoever 'tis for, 'tis in your room. Ms. Bathilde told me to bring it up here, and it certainly ain't for me." She said, her accent causing Vivian to smile slightly.

Then renewing her efforts Vivian spoke again, "These can't be for me. I am but an herbalist, no better than you or any of the other servants here. How can I eat this?"

"Master Chael treats guests as he wills. You will offend him if you do not eat the food he has ordered prepared for you. He is not a nice man to be around when he is upset. So just eat up and when you're ready come to the next room for your bath." said the maid as she wiped the soot from her hands on to the corner of her apron.

Vivian stood for a moment before sitting at the chair. "Where is my father?"

The maid looked sideways at her as she stood. "Ms. Bathilde will take you to him as soon as he awakens. He is yet sleeping and she does not wish you to disturb him until he is ready." She moved to the door she had entered through, "Will that be all M'lady?"

"Yes…yes, I think…" stammered Vivian, unsettled and worried for her father. The maid curtsied and left the room, leaving Vivian to eat her breakfast in peace.

The freshly laundered maid's outfit was a perfect fit. Because of the haste and circumstance of leaving Morovia, Vivian had no time or chance to pack anything and now had to resort to borrowed clothing of the castle maids. She sat on a settee in the parlor, waiting for something to happen, waiting for someone to fetch her when her father woke, or waiting for Duke Claymore to show his face, whichever one came first.

Finally, when the clocks struck eleven the housekeeper entered. "Your father is awake, and wishes to see you." She smiled as Vivian leapt from the settee, grateful to finally move.

She followed the housekeeper up the stairs and through the hallways, until finally they came to a door that stood ajar. As they walked in, she gasped. Her father lay on the bed, his face swollen and bruised. Rushing to his side she grasped his hand, falling to the floor next to the bed on her knees, "Father! Whatever did they do to you?"

Her father looked at her and smiled, wincing when his lip cracked. "I had the misfortune to ride the road that the bandits were on. But do not worry, all will be well." He looked around the room. "But here is Alex? Did he not follow you here?"

_Alex! _ "Forgive me father, I know not where Alex is. I have not seen him since I was accused of witchcraft. I would imagine that he left for your house in Y'alter to fetch you when I was first taken away." She dropped her head in shame.

"Fear not daughter, I will ride through Morovia when I return home. I will find him."

"Whatever do you mean, I am coming with you!"

"No Vivian. You cannot, for one you have been banished. If you dare place foot in Morovia, not even the greatest knight could get you out of there alive. And two, a second reason you cannot come with me…" he started, seeming hesitant.

"It's our debt to the Duke isn't it? I must stay and work for him mustn't I?" she took a deep breath, "How long?"

Her father looked at her, sadness filling his eyes. "I would have done anything not to have it come to this, but…but I couldn't prevent it, 'tis what he wanted and I was in no position to argue…"

"What is it father?" she asked, dread settling in the bottom of her stomach, she felt sick imagining all the things that could have triggered such regret in her father…

"I…I gave him," he swallowed hard, "I gave him Master Rights."

Vivian dropped her father's hand as if it was a burning log, a poisonous snake. "You did what!"

"Forgive me Vivian! I was attacked on the road, and I happened upon this castle, and he gave me shelter. I asked for his assistance, asked him to send a servant and in return I would pay him in whatever I could. He wasn't going to bother with it himself! He didn't care! But when I told him your name, he said he would send someone, only if I gave him Master Rights."

"But father Master Rights! Under the law he can do anything to me that he wishes, even beat me! Or kill me!" Her hand flew to her mouth to prevent a sob.

"He won't. He gave his oath."

"The oath of a noble is nothing to me. The only one I have known, I thought myself in love with. The only one I have known turned his back to me and gave me to the mob. I saw the look on face when the accusations were hurtled against me. He hated me. Then and there I knew that he was never truly in love with me. He couldn't see past the false accusations. He didn't even try!" Yelled Vivian, tears of anger and fear streaming down her face. "And now I am to be prisoner in my rescuer's home! To be laughed at and ridiculed by all those who come, probably to be shunned for the rest of my life!"

"You will not be shunned, nor treated ill." The deep baritone was soft yet indignant as it rolled over her. Startled she stood and spun around, losing her balance and pitching head first into the Lord of the Castle.

* * *

Lochlan had heard only the last part of the conversation between Donnel Raen and Vivian, but it was enough that he knew he had to step in, before Vivian could do herself or her father any real damage. Upon opening the door, he was slightly startled to see Vivian dressed in a maid's outfit before he mentally reminded himself that of course she would be dressed as such, for there was no other female garb in the castle. Promising to remedy that, he spoke.

Seconds later, Vivian was in his arms, ungracefully sprawled against him. His breath caught as he smelled the scent of sage. Lifting her up, he put her on her feet a few feet from him. "Watch your step."

Her eyes were filled with sorrow as she looked at him, not the indignant anger he was expecting, "Why?" she whispered, so soft he could barely hear.

"May we discuss this later? I would like to see how your father fares, and you." He said, trying not to fidget under the piercing green of her eyes.

"You put me off once, this is the second time…there will not be a third."

He nodded in acknowledgement, internally dreading the conversation that would come, sooner or later. Bowing to her he moved around to the other side of the bed where Donnel rested. Pulling up a chair, he watched as Vivian sat on the bed next to her father, looking worn with care and worry. A twinge of guilt seeped into his mind, but he forced it out.

Donnel turned towards him, his face showing lines of worry and laughter. The man had had a hard life, but one that had also given him joy. "Thank you for saving her," then he looked at Vivian and back to him, "May I visit?"

Lochlan looked at him sharply, "I am not that heartless. However," he glanced at Vivian, his voice softening, "I need to speak to your father alone for a moment. Could you step into the hallway for a moment?"

She glanced to her father and back at him before nodding. She stood and left with a defiant tilt to her chin.

Lochlan waited a moment before turning to look at Donnel, who stared back at him, his green eyes so much like his daughter's. "My servants tell me that you also had a son. Alexander I believe. I dispatched a rider to your daughter's shop to pick anything up that she left. Her clothes will be brought, along with her herbs. He has been given express orders to attempt to find your son. It will be a hostile environment for a child such as him. I am readying a larger party to meet the rider as we speak. Would you know of anywhere he may be hiding, as to make our search easier?"

Donnel shook his head. "I had hoped to be able to fetch him myself, but he would go nowhere other than the shop and to Lord Morven's keep. However, now that Morven has pressed charges on Vivian, I doubt that Alex would go there. If you cannot find him at the shop then he has left, gone to find me in Y'alter no doubt." Lochlan nodded, and began to stand. Donnel's hand on his stopped him. "Your Grace, may I ask why you wished the Master Rights?"

Lochlan looked at the man on the bed, crushed by the cruelness of the world, but he was not ready to share his feelings with the man, not if he ever hoped to gain Vivian's love. "That reason will come someday when you do not expect it. Yet, for now, I cannot voice it."

Donnel let his hand drop and nodded. "But you promise she will be looked after."

It was not a question. He nodded, "She will be treated as a queen." He turned and left, leaving Donnel looking after him, his beautiful daughter stunned at his abrupt departure. Only Donnel noticed the slip of paper the Duke had dropped on the dresser as he left.


	4. Chapter 4

The rider reigned the horse in. He was the first to arrive, which made sense seeing that he had left a few hours earlier than the rest of the party. That and the others were riding with a wagon. His job was to try to find the boy, Alexander. Find him and bring him back to Claymore Castle.

The shop in front of him was fairly clean, considering the windows had been smashed in, and some of the herb boxes within lay splintered on the floor. Dismounting he tied his horse to the hitching post and started towards the door.

An old woman yelled at him from across the street, "Young man! Do not enter there! You will be cursed by the witch's evil powers!"

Ignoring her, he continued on, halting halfway through the store. A flight of stairs went up to the second floor. A creak of the floor board gave him hope that the boy Alex was actually there. Calling up the stairs in an attempt to calm the boy he began to climb the flight. "Alexander! I am come from your father and sister. They are both alive and well at Castle Claymore! I have been sent to bring you to them and to gather Lady Raen's herbs and clothes." then with an afterthought he added, "I mean no harm."

Once he was at the top of the stairs he looked down the short hall. Two doors occupied the hall, both on the same side. The first one was open, the second shut. Moving forward he looked into the first room. Obviously Lady Raen's, it had an open chest full of dresses, along with other girlish things. Moving farther down he opened the second door, staying back just in case.

A boy, stood in the center of the room, a pole held in his hands. "How do I know that you haven't been sent from Morven to catch me?"

"Would you take my word as a hard working servant?" he asked.

"Possibly, but I need more information. What's your name?"

"Henry, Henry Polt."

"And my sister, she came to the castle riding what?" Alex quizzed.

Henry smiled, "She came with Master Lochlan, riding Midnight, a horse as black as his namesake."

"You said my father is there too? Why is he there?"

At this, Henry's smile failed. "Your father was attacked by bandits as he rode to your sister's rescue. He happened upon the Master's castle and he agreed to come in your father's place. I will leave the particulars for your father to explain to you. Right now we need to pack everything up that you and Lady Raen will need. The rest of my party will be here within hours to pick up everything we have packed. We must do this fast so we can get everything."

Alex stared at him for a moment then lowered his pole. "We have nothing to transport our stuff in."

"No worry, I have a wagon coming. We just need to make a pile of what is needed and then it will simply be a matter of moving it out to the wagon."

Alex nodded and gestured towards the chest at the foot of his bed. "This is all I own."


	5. Chapter 5

Lochlan sat once more in the tower room. Staring at the rose in the crystal vase, covered with a glass covering.

He stared at the rose, deep into the night he stared at it. Even when the party he had sent looking for Alex came back, he sat on his haunches and stared at the rose; his eyes gleaming inhumanly in the starlight.

Even the knock on the door, and a summon to dinner, did not faze him. He sat staring at the offending rose, cursed rose, the one that held all hope of a normal life. He did not take his eyes off the rose until he shifted once more when the sun rose in the eastern sky.

Then he closed his eyes and nostalgia washed over him…

_His father looked at him with understanding, his mother with horror. He knew what he was; he was a monster. Born of night and magic, he was forced to become this every night. Why? He had once asked. The answer pained him beyond belief. His father, his father who now looked down at him had passed it to him. The first-born son of the fairy cursed family._

_The giver's anger had been kindled long ago, cursing the first-born males within the direct Chael line to hold some part of the curse._

_His mother had gazed upon him for the first time in his cursed form. He was seven at the time. Seven when his mother died of a heart attack, he was told. Eight when his father followed his wife, the loss having crippled his will to live._

_Eight and a half when the fairy visited him, placing the rose in his hand. Declaring words of prophesy._

_Like winter night,_

_Cold and frozen shall life be,_

_Devoid of warmth, life, and love,_

_Thus be the family curse,_

_'__Till one of healing tender,_

_Your curse she so willing bear,_

_From this rose she makes your cure,_

_And break the line of fear,_

_To free the line of Claymore. _

_He had never known his father's share of the curse, but he knew that each of his ancestors had been cursed as he. Each had been given a rose. Each had not found the "one of healing tender," nor could the line be broken. Many of his grandfathers had tried. Each had ended up with an heir, some with no clue how it had happened. Some had sought to take their own lives, all lived beyond any mortal wounds they received. The portrait of each hung in the great hall, somber men staring down at their descendants carrying the curse of generations…_

Lochlan startled from his thoughts at the pounding on the door. Standing up he glared at the offending piece of wood. Growling he swung it open, "I have told you, I am not to be disturbed while in…" he faltered. For the person that stood before him was not a servant. In fact it was one of his guests, Alex.

"Your Grace! It's about time you answered. Father says that we are going to take our leave. The servants said you were up in this tower and not to be disturbed, but I thought it would be nice of you to comfort Vivian who is awfully sad that you are keeping her here to work for you."

Lochlan just gazed at the boy for a moment before moving forward, his large frame causing Alex to back up, as he shut the door behind him. Taking the key from his pocket and locking the door securely. "Move along. I will be there shortly."

* * *

Vivian stood next to her father, who leaned on her for support. "Father, you cannot possibly think of leaving!"

"I must. My business in Y'alter calls me, and I do not want Alex here. I fear he will aggravate the Duke more than he already has." He looked pointedly to where Lochlan stood in the darkened corner, glaring at nothing in particular. He had descended from some unknown tower shortly after Alex had, his aura making itself known.

The door to the great hall opened, revealing a wagon with a servant at the reigns. Lochlan turned his head, and pushed himself from the wall and strode over to where they stood. In a gruff voice he looked down at them from his foreboding height. "You do realize that you are my guest, and my hospitality extends farther than this giving you a bed for a night."

"Yes your grace, I understand this, however I feel that I must be getting back to Y'alter. Alex needs to be in a familiar place." Donnel winced, regretting the deception he must carry on. Vivian took his wince for one of pain and turned back to him, a fearful expression on her face. Over her head his eyes connected to Lochlan's, who nodded fractionally to him. "Come daughter, help me to the wagon."

As he draped his arm around Vivian once more he silently prayed that the Duke of Claymore, Lochlan Chael, would truly cherish and protect his daughter as he had sworn to do in his note. Once they were outside, he used her hand to help him into the back of the wagon. Then he leaned close to her ear, "Vivian, trust your heart." The wagon began moving as Vivian looked after him in puzzlement, Lochlan stood solidly behind her watching them go.


	6. Chapter 6

Vivian stood in the cold, shivering as her father and brother drove away in the back of the wagon. Although she stood in her own dress, clad in her own shoes, she felt abandoned by all she knew. Morven, the very man she believed would be her first defender, had not defended her; her father had come to her rescue, only to be beset upon by bandits, and all in all not won her freedom; her brother had scarce been reunited with her before he too left; the man who stood behind her now, a stranger her life was now entrusted to; it was too much to bear…her vision swam and her legs gave way and she felt herself falling.

Lochlan watched Vivian as her internal struggle grew. Guilt gnawed at him. If he had just saved her, then let her go…that should have been enough right? No…he knew he was selfish, and he knew her father would have done anything to save her. As he watched her become unsteady he moved to support her. Anyone would have done anything to save the angel before him, so why did he demand this price for her life? _Because I love her…_

He caught her as she fell; her hair spilled over one arm before he lifted her as if she weighed nothing, and settled her against him, her head laid against his shoulder. Turning he watched as the wagon rolled around the last corner. Swearing to himself he would do everything in his power to make Vivian happy, he strode into the castle.

As he took the stairs toward her bedchamber she stirred against him. Looking down her bright eyes locked onto his. Rather than struggling, as he expected her to, she lifted her hand and touched the scar above his right eye, "Where did you get this?"

_Pain lanced through him as the needle punctured the flesh over his eye. The cut hurt painfully, but not as bad as his shattered leg. His senses were lulled in the warmth of the kitchen, and the smell of sage. His leg was in a cast, propped up in a semi-comfortable position. With a final pull of the needle, the thread was cut and a blanket was put over him. A boy ran in to the room, "Vivian!" the boy stopped as he saw him. "Another one? Really?"_

_The sage girl, Vivian, stood. "What did you need Alex?"_

_The boy's attention snapped back to the girl, Vivian, "Lord Aarondur has been murdered! Morven wants you to come attend his wounded men."_

_At this announcement, he closed his glowing eyes, weary from the night, knowing all was done; he could rest._

"In a battle." He replied nonchalantly, hoping she could not feel the thud of his heart in his chest at her casual touch.

"It was deep." It was a statement not a question. "Did it hurt?"

Lochlan was silent, unwilling to delve into the past. Continuing down the corridor he felt Vivian become unconscious once more in his arms. Upon arriving at her chamber he pushed the door open. It was not a lavish room, nor a small one. It took but a few seconds to span the floor and reach the four poster bed. The intricate wrought iron curved and flowed in twisting vines and roses, then rose elegantly into four pillars to create a canopy. The thick material of the curtain was tied back, exposing the bed. Gently he laid her down, carefully placing her head on the pillow. Resisting the urge to caress her cheek, he pulled the tie and watched the curtain slide down between them. He walked to the door and before he left, he looked back, emotion clogging his throat, "Rest well, Vivian."

Shutting the door he struggled with his emotions. Vivian would hate him now to be sure. Not only had he demanded Masters Rights, but he had run her father out, indirectly of course, but out none the less. Walking for his study he retrieved a stray book from a chair. He glanced down at the book, only to realize that it was not a common book, not one he would find in his library. Flipping it open, he appraised the penmanship, for it was written not printed.

As he turned the pages, he began to realize that it was more than a journal. Recipes were written down, entries of everyday life, and herbs with long lists of usages and combinations for ailments. Suddenly realizing who the journal belonged to, he closed it, wishing not to invade more than he already had. However he was still at loss at what to do with the book. Surly Vivian would not appreciate his barging into her chambers, even if she was unconscious and would probably never know.

Instead he took it with him, setting it on the corner of his desk. He sat, frowning at the pile of business letters on his desk, amazed what two days could add up to, he picked the top letter up. Breaking the seal he glanced at the first letter, skimming the report from his steward. His fiefs and lands were in order, some producing well, while the production in the Morovia area had dropped. Once more, he ground his teeth. The king had taken the larger part of Morovia and given it to Morven in return for his efforts in the War. The names were a stupid coincidence that only added more bile to the bitter sting. His father – and his father's father – and even before that – had ruled Morovia; to have it taken away was a bitter betrayal, and the king knew this and knew it would cut deeper than any other punishment.

The war. For years the land of Elsterin had been part of the Toroch kingdom. It had been conquered by the King's grandfather, years before his birth, during the time of his own grandfather's life. His grandfather had also served as an advisor to the king during the invasion and eventual domination. His father, the sixth Duke of Claymore, a high counselor to the king in the years of peace, had served him as well. Lochlan had taken over his father's position not too many years after his father died.

It was during one of these council meetings, that the king discovered Lochlan's talents. His work as an assassin had started almost immediately. At first he was asked to target political rivals. The upstart 'prince' of this fief, the baron of such and such – all added to the growing numbers of the dead tallied at his feet. Then word came. Count DeWayne Hartshorne, the last son of Elsterin's royal line was raising an army to rebel – to seize back the country and restore the monarchy.

As King Kiefer's high counselor, he was placed as the First Commander of the King's Army, an honor for one as young as he. His skills as an assassin made him the best choice to take down this 'upstart fool of a king.' However, as the orders were being placed in his hands, Craig stood up.

Craig had his own vendetta against this upstart…his wife. Lady Cecilia Hartshorne, the most beautiful woman in all the land. No one knew where she hailed from, only that her beauty had captured almost every heart in court. Craig was besotted. So much so that he had asked her to marry him. Her refusal of him, and her acceptance of his childhood enemy had created a monster hell bent on destroying the fiend who had taken her from him. The king had accepted him, knowing full well the power of hate that drives a man, knowing that he would accomplish his goal…one way or another.

The coward had succeeded.

Lochlan dropped the letter and picked up a second one. This one a report on the happenings of court, throwing it into the fire, he watched it shrivel and burn. As he watched, his mind transported him back to the war and Morovia.

As the First Commander he had managed the army, strategy and maneuvers, inspections and punishments, no danger of being killed in hand to hand combat. However, the king's eyes were everywhere. One wrong maneuver, one mistake, one slip…and you were dead. Commanders disappeared by the dozens, one day feasting with the other officers, the next dead on the battlefield. Lochlan watched himself; he approved every maneuver with the king, with other commanders, careful not to let the blame fall on him for the failures, careful until that last night.

Craig killed DeWayne, and Lochlan, believing all would be well in the near future, slipped into the forest and prowled the night. He returned at the first sound of battle. He watched as Lady Hartshorne's army came crashing through the ranks of his men, like water from a burst dam on freshly tilled farm land…completely wiping them away.

The king's displeasure was immediate, his retribution final. Lochlan was stripped of Morovia, it being given to Morven for his valor and courage. For Morven had led the last pocket of organized resistance against the riders, the last before the entire group save him had been mowed down with white shafts longer than Lochlan's arm. The army hadn't stood a chance…the elves from the northern kingdom were a force no one had thought to fight. Or prepared to fight. Their shafts were as deadly as their lances were keen.

A knock shattered his memories. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Your Grace. I brought your tea." Bathilde answered, opening the door and carrying in a tea tray. "Forgive me, sir, but I just checked on your guest, and she seems a bit under the weather. Well, I was just thinking, she needs some time to adjust to the life of this grand castle…" she tapered off.

Lochlan looked at his housekeeper, raising an eyebrow he asked, "And what is this to me? As I am well aware of it, you must have some idea of how to make her more comfortable, out with it." Although many would flog a servant for such openness…Lochlan refused to lay a hand on any of his servants. He had seen how violent many lords were, and he had seen how many lords had fallen as their servants turned on them.

Clasping her hands in front of her she started in a rush, "Well, if we were to let her have her dinner in a smaller room, not the great hall as it might intimidate her, but rather in say…the breakfast parlor, that she may look more favorably upon us and not be so unsettled and the like."

Lochlan glanced out the window, dusk was falling; he had spent too much time in contemplation of the dreary past. "Is dinner ready to be served?"

"Aye sir, but you usually eat later. The cook however, prepared the food early for your guest."

Standing he walked to the window, placing one powerful fist on the casing. "Then forget my tea. I will have dinner from now on with Lady Vivian." Then he looked Bathilde straight in the eye. "Give my orders. No one, absolutely no one is to speak of my past or my current condition. Reinforce the order that no one is allowed in the tower at any time. Is that understood?"

"Aye, Your Grace. That I will." She nodded, curtsied, and rushed from the room.

Pinching the bridge of his nose with his free had he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Somehow he needed to find a way to break the spell. Then, and only then, could he truly be free to court Vivian the way she deserved to be courted. Leaving the room, he strode down the hall. With Vivian here, his life would be thrown into chaos. Over the past years he had developed a routine. When he woke, when he ate, when he slept, walked, talked, read, when he did anything…now he had to break it.


	7. Chapter 7

Vivian had woken once more only moments after Lochlan had placed her in the bed. Slowly sitting up, to ensure her consciousness, she looked around the room. It was small compared to the rooms she had seen in Morven's castle, but it was still larger than any room she had slept in. It was also very much more grand than anything she was accustomed to. The rich draperies hung in their full glory, reflecting the light in a shimmering sheen. The bed was huge, the four pillars looked as if they were made of life like vines, vines threaded around wrought ran her hand over the bed, first the bedding, then the footboard. The walls were painted a cream color, golden gilding giving grandeur and embellishment. The bed rose to the ceiling, the cream drapes embroidered with gold thread melded with the room, creating a peaceful image.

Walking to the washstand and pouring water into her hands, she carefully rinsed her face, using a towel to dry off. Then moving to the wardrobe, she opened it. Fully expecting nothing to be there, she gasped. Her second lone gown hung on the right. But two gowns, made for princesses hung on the left. The first was emerald velvet. The bodice cut in an empire waist with a square neckline. The sleeves opened up at the elbows, dropping to the floor but leaving the forearms bare. The second gown was white but in the same style as the first. The fabric was so smooth and light, it could have been silk.

Closing the wardrobe she turned around, one hand clasped over her mouth, the other splayed across the wood behind her for support. In an attempt not to sob, she gasped and she allowed herself to break. What was she to do? Obviously she had already been a burden to the Duke, for had he not carried her up to this room after she had fainted? Had he not caught her when she fainted? And then! Oh, then she had the audacity to touch is scar, and ask him in such a personal way something that had given him pain. She had felt the quickening of his pulse before she had once more succumbed to the blackness that beckoned her…she had known his anger boiled beneath his cool demeanor.

What would she do? She had already alienated the one person who would determine her welfare. How she longed for her brother, and her father. She longed for the days when she would bring wounded animals into the kitchen to nurse. She would miss helping her friends.

Again she choked. Her friends, the very same ones that had turned on her, and the very same ones who had condemned her to a death by fire. Those were the ones she missed. Aye, and she missed Morven. Her heart broke each time she heard his name spoken. For she had been confident that he had returned her love. That nothing short of death could break the love that she felt for him. She had been wrong, so wrong.

Falling to the ground she sobbed. Broken sobs that wracked her body. Finally, when there were no more tears to shed, her body exhausted from the strain of stress and grief, she fell into a deep slumber, waking only when Bathilde knocked on her door.

* * *

Vivian responded to the prods and gentle commands, never truly absorbing it all. She was still lost in the world of pain and heartache as Bathilde slipped the green gown over her head, tisking when the gown caught on one of her hair pins, sending her black hair everywhere once more.

"Oh, never mind. His Grace won't care. We will just pull it into a loose braid." Her deft fingers deftly plaited Vivian's long black hair. "Now come. We don't want to keep the master waiting."

In an instant, before Vivian knew what was happening, she was being led down the hall at a pace that forced her to pay attention, snapping her from her dazed state. By the time they reached the parlor, Vivian was breathing faster than normal, not only because of the run. All of Bathilde's comments had sunk in.

Entering the room, she was relieved to see that He was not there. Dropping into a seat, she tried to calm her racing heart. Determined to be poised and courteous, she still jumped when the door flew open and he strode in. His demeanor was one of complete possession, possession of body, spirit, confidence, and wealth. This man, the man who, apart from the king, had the most power in all the land, the man who could order anything done, who had enough power to crush any one person, town, or city, bowed to her, his eyes concerned as they locked onto hers with a ferocity she had never before seen.

"Forgive my lateness. I forgot I ordered dinner early for your convenience." Slowly he lowered himself into the chair directly across from her. He gracefully flipped his napkin out to the side before depositing it on his lap. "I know this is a strange place for you. However, I have ordered my staff to attend to every need you have. If you need anything, you only need ask. In return, I ask, no, demand, only one thing…the tower. The south tower, do not enter it, or ever try to go in any of the rooms." His eyes burned into hers.

Nodding she breathed a sigh of relief, the entrance of the servants broke the contact. Steaming trays of food entered on servants' arms. She looked at them assessing, their clothes were in good condition, and they looked well. The food smelled heavenly, and when the covers were removed, the steam wafted through the air. Tantalizing her taste buds, the chicken looked perfect in its golden glazed skin. Breathing deep once more, she identified the smell of rosemary, thyme, and a hint of garlic.

A second platter was deposited next to the first, this one a combination of vegetables. The potatoes, carrots, onions, and green beans were flawless. Slathered in butter, garlic, and thyme, she could almost see their taste. A breadbasket was then set down, rolls steaming with warmth. There was such a variety of dishes she lost track of when they arrived; they ranged from delicately filleted fish to seasoned ham.

She had never seen so much food at any time in her life. Not even Morven had ever boasted this amount for formal events. Shocked and slightly at a loss, she looked to Lochlan. Merriment twinkled in his eyes as he watched her astonishment, his chin resting on his fist.


	8. Chapter 8

Lochlan watched Vivian's astonishment and delight as the different trays were brought in. He loved the way her eyes shone. He loved the way that she smiled when she was happy. He had ordered a larger dinner for two reasons. First, he had thought that her father and brother would be staying longer. Secondly, he wanted her to taste a variety of different dishes for her to decide what she liked. He was determined that she would receive everything she wished, even if his selfishness would not allow her the one thing she truly wanted. Freedom.

A servant bowed next to him, "Your Grace, the wine? You never specified a wine you would like."

Glancing across the table at Vivian, and then back to the servant he spoke, "A red wine, what ever one the cook deems best."

The servant bowed and disappeared through the door. In truth, he cared not what wine they picked, for one wine was like another to him. It had been the king's worst nightmare to realize that his First Commander had no taste for wines. It wasn't true entirely though, he could tell a wine that was good enough for a king from the cheep wine sold in taverns along the quays. Not that that distinction mattered much.

"Your Grace,"

Lochlan looked up from his musings, startled. "Forgive me, I am not used to dinning with company." He looked to Vivian, seeing the concern on her face he realized she must have called more than once before he had responded.

"Your Grace, I…may I ask what occasion has brought so much food to the table? I hardly think the two of us would eat this much." she gestured as she spoke, her hand indicating the food between them.

"I had thought that your family would be staying longer than, well, than they did."

She swallowed, and sadness seeped into her eyes. "Even if they had stayed, four could not each such a large fare."

Clearing his throat, he tried to smile. It came out as more of a grimace. "I had hoped you would sample some of what my cook has to offer, so that you may decide what you would like for future reference."

"But would that not intrude more on your routine? Your Grace, I am already displacing your dinnertime, your servants' work, and doubtless many other things as well! I wouldn't even dream of taking the liberty to change what you eat!" Cried a distressed Vivian.

Standing up, he walked swiftly to the other side of the table. Kneeling down on one knee, he took her hand in his, "Vivian, if I may call you that…" at her nod he continued, "You are not displacing my dinner, you are simply giving me a reason to look forward to it. My servants' work? Heaven forbid they have work to do, is it not what I am paying them for? And for some reason, you strike me as one who will not be pampered by servants. Trust me, they will not be burdened by your presence. In fact, they may thank you one day for breaking the weary spell that has this castle gripped in its claws. My food? I never took any notice of what the cook made, I ate what she laid out before me!" Standing, still with her hand in his, he looked her in the eye. "Trust me, you are in no way a burden."

Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss to the back of her hand before he returned to his seat. As soon as he sat, a servant entered carrying a bottle of wine. Popping it open, he poured it into their glasses. Then looking at their plates, he frowned. Ignoring his master, he picked up a serving fork and knife. Cutting into pieces of chicken, ham, beef, and fish, he placed a sizable portion on Vivian's plate. Then he took a ladle and scooped vegetables and other sides onto her plate, completely ignoring her protests.

By the time the servant left, Lochlan had served himself, only about half of what Vivian had on her plate. "As I said, they will not be burdened by your being here. Rather you will be their new baby, and Henry will be the worst of them. He had a daughter your age, Carol. She had the blondest hair one ever did see. Her eyes were like the crystal waters, and her smile was freely given. She sang like a lark. But one day, she went riding outside the castle grounds. The bandits attacked her. I am assuming they were the same group that attacked your father." Suddenly he looked up. "Forgive me, my thoughts turn dark."

"Why have these bandits not been hunted down?" asked Vivian, her hands in her lap as she stared dismally at the food before her.

"We have tried. A poor excuse I know. But these bandits are well funded, or at least rob enough to be able to bribe enough people, to have their whereabouts concealed. They have eluded us at every turn. Each year, each year we think we have caught the ringleaders, but to no avail because they always return the next spring. They rob, steal, and plunder. And still we cannot catch them. They leave no discernible trail within their mayhem." He stopped, suddenly knowing the effect his dark rants were having on Vivian. Looking through the window, he ground his teeth. "Eat, I must leave."

Her green eyes widened at his abrupt declaration. "Your Grace, have I done something to offend you?" Standing she grasped his arm as he made his way to the door. "Sir, I beg of you! Tell me if I have displeased you in some way!"

Stopping, he took her chin gently in his hand and lifted her face up. The tears brimming in her eyes made the green seem endless, doubling back again and again on itself. If he weren't careful he would find him lost in them he thought. Gently he answered her, "No. You have done nothing wrong. I retire as soon as the sun is down." He looked to the window, and back to her. "Eat your food. There is nothing to worry about."

Dropping her chin, he backed out of the door. He had allowed time to get away from him, it mustn't happen again. Striding down the hall, he was greeted by Henry who followed him as he stripped off his waistcoat and cravat. "I may be longer tonight than normal. I have not been out enough."

"Aye, sir. I will keep a cold breakfast in your rooms for you. Is there anything else sir?"

"No." then he reconsidered, "Aye, Lady Vivian is to be taken care of. Make her eat at least half of the food you gave to her. Show her to the library if she wishes it."

Henry smiled, "Will do, sir."

"Thank you." He nodded to Henry as he opened the great door. "Leave the kitchen door open tonight. I have no wish to be locked out again in the morning."

Cold air blasted him as he walked outside. The stars were starting to shine above, the moon cloaked in clouds, four paws rhythmically beat the ground. One would think that ability such as his would be liberating. Not to him. To him, cursed to spend half his life as such, half Malamute, half wolf, a monster of the dark, it was a trap. A trap he had to return to each night fully aware of his punishment.

A creature of the night, this is what made him indispensable as the king's assassin. Not only would no one suspect the First Commander of the King's Army of being an assassin, but also they would never connect the giant black animal as an assassin. Those that had…were silenced.

It had been one of those missions, to silence a suspicion, which had brought Lochlan to Vivian, bloodied and broken. In this shape he had fled from the murder. Felled, unable to flee farther, in Vivian's alley. She had taken him in, this horrible monster, and had cared for him. Wrapped his broken leg, stitched the gash above his eye, and mended his other wounds. He had lived in her kitchen, learning the warmth of her spirit, the kindness of her eyes, and her will to help everyone. He had fallen in love with the healer from Morovia.

He had returned many times to watch her, never entering her shop, but listening to her laughter from the window. He had watched as her brother grew from necessity. Picked on by the other children, he had never told Vivian where he had gotten the bruises. She never pressed, knowing full well. He watched her, loving her and knowing she could never be his. Perhaps this was what possessed him to demand Master Rights, the knowledge that she could never be his.

He growled and ran faster. In moments he was through the small tunnel that lead through the outer walls of the castle. He was flying through the forest. Then he stopped. The waters of the Silver Lake reflected the world back to him. Huffing as he dropped to the ground, he laid there. Unwilling to return to the castle, the prison of stone, he fell asleep to the world's soft sounds.


	9. Chapter 9

Upon waking the next morning, Vivian looked out across the expanse of the forest. The sun was not yet up, and the trees were only masses of indistinguishable shivering leaves. She felt cold, and empty. Duke Chael had told her that she was not a burden, but the night before, she felt as if she were. Not long after he had left, Henry had come back. When he saw her plate, he had frowned, telling her that Master Lochlan wished for her to eat at least half of the food on her plate and admonishing her to eat more. She had smiled at this, but her amusement did not last long. As soon as Henry caught sight of his lordship's plate, he cursed under his breath. Bowing to her, he had left the room quickly.

Raised voices echoed through the hall. From what she had understood, Henry was telling someone of the untouched food. The voice responded with something akin to worry. A plump man rushed in, and because he was wearing an apron, she assumed him to be the cook. When he caught sight of the offending plate, he put his hand to his head and exclaimed, "The doctor will not be pleased."

She had soon finished her meal, the servants whisking away all the trays. Bathilde had returned to take her to bed. As soon as her head had hit her pillow she was asleep.

Moving towards the wardrobe, she stopped. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted movement. Looking down into the blackness, she was able to make out a shape. Squinting, she put her hands on the sill of the window and leaned forward until her head was pressed against the cool glass. The shape disappeared entirely, and then, in a sudden flood of light from a back door, the large shape materialized features. The animal was huge! It was a wolf.

Screaming she backed away from the window. Bathilde burst through the door only moments later, followed by Henry. "My lady! What in the world is the matter?"

"There!" She sobbed, pointing out the window. "There is a wolf in the castle grounds!"

Henry ran to the window and looked out, then chuckled. "Miss Vivian hasn't met his Grace's dog yet." Smiling to Vivian he started for the door. "You just let Bathilde get you dressed and I will have his Lordship's dog down in the breakfast parlor for you to meet."

* * *

Vivian stepped carefully into the parlor, fully expecting something to attack her. When she walked in however, Henry sat on one of the chairs, breakfast lay before him. To his right sat a giant dog. When she entered the dog's head swiveled to look at her, but did not bark. Henry stood, "This is Andimar." When the dog-wolf didn't move, Henry nudged him with his leg. "He is half malamute and half wolf. You won't usually see him during the day. Hold your hand out to him."

Slowly, after a reassuring nod, Vivian held her hand out. Andimar cocked his head, then moved his nose forward until it bumped against her palm. Slowly she moved her hand, running it up his snout to scratch behind his ears. Abruptly he shivered, and then shook his body. A small patch of fur moved off of the area above his right eye. "I know you." Dropping to her knees, her heart started to thump wildly. Carefully she fingered the scar above his eye. Without warning she clapped her hand to her thigh. Andimar's head cocked once more; he put his back right paw in her hand. Lifting the paw to her eye level, she looked at it. Sure enough, there was a scar, across the pad.

_Vivian walked down the familiar alleyway. She was returning from the keep. Morven had invited her to dine with him. Life was good, until the smell of blood permeated the air. Stopping, she looked around. A sound caused her head to snap sideways. A huge dog lay in a pool of blood not five feet from her. Carefully she walked forward, ready to spring back if the dog moved. Pulling her hair behind her ears, she crouched in front of the injured animal. A wine escaped its throat._

_"__Shhh, I am here to help you." Her voice sounded harsh to her own ears, harsh with fear. "Stand up, come with me." Carefully she tried to move him, surprised when he did not snap at her. Once he was inside, she built up a fire and put water on to boil. Bracing herself against the wall, she set the broken leg and bandaged it. Taking a towel, she dampened it with water and tried to wash the blood and dirt from the mangy coat._

_When the water was boiling she washed her hands, and a needle. Slowly, she stitched the cut above the dog's eye. Grateful that the animal had not yet moved to hurt her she tied off the stitching. Throwing a blanket over the wounded animal she started as the door flew open, "Vivian!" Alex stopped and looked at the dog with his disapproving frown. "Another one? Really?"_

_Unable to understand why Alex had barged in so suddenly, she asked, "What did you need Alex?"_

_The boy's attention snapped back to her, "Lord Aarondur has been murdered! Morven wants you to come attend his wounded men."_

_The dog behind her sighed, and Vivian cast a curious glance at him, but hurried to gather her herbs and medicines. As she hurried for the door, she looked at her patient; the blue-grey eyes that met hers with such force were forever burned into her memory._

"Lady Vivian, you know the dog?" asked Henry, confused.

Grinning, Vivian nodded. "Aye, I know this dog. I healed him once. I found him in an alleyway, his leg shattered, and this gash," she fingered the scar above his eye, "This gash was the very same one I sewed up the night Lord Aarondur was murdered."

At this Henry stilled, "You were there? When Lord Aarondur was murdered?"

"No, but I attended to his men afterwards. It was horrifying. I find it hard to believe one man could do so much damage. The attacker, whoever it was, is a man I have no desire to ever meet."

With the utterance of her last comment, both Henry and Andimar stiffened. Henry regained composure almost instantly, but Andimar simply snuffed and walked away, through the door and up into the deeper recesses of the castle. "Lady Vivian, your breakfast awaits. His Lordship may or may not attend. He is, as always, unpredictable."

Vivian nodded, wondering at the sudden change of mood in the room.


	10. Chapter 10

Shifting was just as painful as always. However, he was thankful for his ability to conjure clothes after a shift. Without it, he would have been in some very bad situations. Now, it gave him faster access to the breakfast parlor. Straightening his collar, he retraced his steps.

When Henry had come down through the kitchen, scrambling to catch him before his shift, he had been quite puzzled. However, as soon as he had explained Vivian's fears, Lochlan agreed to the plan. He had not, however, planed for Vivian recognizing him. Although he had to chuckle at the name Henry had given him, Andimar. Not bad, as far as names went.

Entering the parlor once more, he was greeted by Vivian and Henry. Henry, he suspected by the amount on Vivian's plate, had dished food for her already. "Vivian," he nodded. "Henry."

"Your Grace, I just introduced Andimar to Vivian. It seems that they have already been acquainted." Then, without warning, Henry took a ladle of eggs and slapped them on his plate, followed by two pieces of toast, and four slices of bacon. Then, leaning down next to him so only he could hear, he whispered. "The doctor will not be pleased to hear that you didn't eat your dinner last night."

Immediately Lochlan grew annoyed, "That doctor is a pompous oaf. I eat fine when I have the stomach for it. Do not presume to question me on my eating habits."

Henry frowned, "We will hope Lady Vivian will make meals a regular occurrence for Your Grace."

Lochlan growled, "Out."

"Your Grace."

Lochlan bit back his retort when he noticed Vivian's fork, hovering halfway from her plate to her mouth. Picking up his fork, he cast around for a subject. "I trust your sleep was pleasant?"

"Aye, thank you." She put her fork down, "Have you known Andimar for long?"

"My whole life, why?" he replied, biting into the toast, famished after his long run during the night and the lack of food the previous dinner.

"Well, I was wondering why I would have found him in my alleyway if he was your dog."

"He is no ones dog. He comes and goes as he pleases. Sometimes I do not see him for days, and others he is constantly by my side. Mostly he is here at night when all are sleeping. I believe that he feels he is some sort of guard dog. But, I will tell you this. If you are friends with him, he will be there whenever you need him. He is no fickle creature that will abandon you in a fight."

* * *

Even though the day started with surprise, Vivian was at a lost with what to do. The Duke had gone to his study to pursue his letters of business. The servants had all disappeared, to do their duties no doubt, leaving her to wander the halls. Determined to make her time at Claymore Castle, the best it could be under the circumstance, she was determined that she would cry no more. She felt emotionally exhausted, and she was sure that the last thing the duke needed, was a girl who cried all the time.

Still not confident in her role within the castle, she moved through the halls like a wraith. Suddenly, without warning, an older woman shoved cloths into her arms. "Take these to the wash, girl. I don't know why you are being so lazy, we've got work to do."

Stunned she allowed her self to be pushed into a smaller hallway, a servant passage. Through her time in Morven's castle, she had learned where all the functions of a castle were, Claymore proved to be much the same. She found the washroom quickly, handing over the linen to other serving girls who promptly threw them into vats of hot water.

A woman, who seemed to be in charge, caught sight of her. "So, you're the new girl the Master took the 'Rights" for. Come with me and we will get you some proper working clothes." The woman dragged her by the wrist through turning tunnels, and around servants, until they came to a closed door and stopped. "Now, has his Lordship told you where you are to serve?"

"No, he has told me nothing." She stammered.

"Well then. Do you know how to cook?"

"Aye, that I do."

"That's good. We recently lost an upstairs hand to marriage. She moved in with her husband not two days ago. The cook will have a need of a new hand." Opening the door, she rummaged through some clothes. "This looks like it will fit close enough." She shoved an apron into her hands. "And this," putting a white shirt on top of the apron. "And this one." She finished, dropping a blue skirt onto the pile with a flourish. "Now take those and go get yourself dressed. The cook will want you up there. Quick as ya' can."

Running back through the halls, Vivian ran to her room. The room, which had seemed to good to be true, now seemed a cruel joke. Obviously everyone had been told, everyone but her, what her role in this castle was to be. Changing quickly, she pulled her hair up into a braid, and headed for the kitchen.

* * *

Lochlan leaned back in his chair. Throwing the letters that he no longer needed into the fire, he stacked the rest of them neatly in one of the drawers of the desk. Staring at the last sealed letter, he frowned. He knew what it was. He didn't want to open it. He knew that it would be a list of admonitions from the doctor. During his last visit to court, he had just barely recovered from the assignment that had brought him to Vivian. He had not looked good. The king, of course, couldn't have his assassin in bad health, so he had sent for a doctor.

The doctor had blamed his thinness, on not enough food. So convincing had his flood of letters been, that his servants had soon taken up the call. Now, returned to perfect health, the pressures of his servants to eat grew tiring. He ate heartily like any man, and could chug a pint of beer with the best of the drunkards at court. Giving in he opened the offending letter.

Scanning through it, he smiled. The doctor, the fool, declared him healthy! Grinning, he stood up. Throwing open the door, he strode down the hallway, already imagining the look on Henry's face when he read the letter. No more piling his plate! He silently rejoiced as he walked down the hall.

What he did not expect was the servant running headfirst into him, sending flour everywhere. As the bowl clashed to the floor, and the flour settled, Lochlan coughed. Spewing flour everywhere, he reached down. "Here, give me your hand. Next time, watch where you are going."

"Forgive me, Your Grace. I did not expect you to be in this hall. I thought you were still in your study."

Lochlan froze. "Vivian?" Taking his hand, perhaps the only part of him not covered in flour, her took Vivian's face and wiped flour from it. Her green eyes full of fear and embarrassment. Then, taking in her clothing, he scowled. "Why are you dressed like a servant? Did your dresses not get washed? But why are you toting flour around…"

Scowling he grabbed her hand. "Come with me." He managed to bite out. He was furious! He had given orders that she be treated as a guest. Not become some underling servant. Swerving through the halls, he slowed down when Vivian whimpered. Finally, slower than he would wish, he arrived at Bathilde's room. Bursting in, he ignored the strange look Henry gave him.

"Will you tell me why Vivian is dressed in servant's clothes again? And why she was carrying flour? Did I not give explicit enough orders? She is a guest in my household. She is not to be treated as a servant. And for all intensive purposes, she is the Mistress of this castle. Do I make myself clear?" He yelled, truly infuriated.

"I had no understanding of her being put to work, Your Grace. I had assumed that you had showed her to the library or some other amusement after breakfast. Forgive me for failing you. I shall speak with the staff so that no further mishaps will occur."

Turning to Henry, his elation dampened by his anger, he shoved the letter into his hand. Then turning on his heel, he picked Vivian up despite her gasp of surprise and feeble protests. Slowly he allowed himself to be calmed. Although she was covered in flour, he could still smell a hint of sage. Moving to the room he had given her, her let her down so her feet touched the floor. "I imagine a servant will be here soon to help you with a bath. Forgive me. I had not thought that you would be impressed into service within my castle. Bathe, and then have a servant take you to my study."

"Sir, if I may." She started, perceptibly nervous. "If you did not ask for the Master's Rights with the intention of me serving, then what did you want them for?"

Lochlan smiled, he had known that his would come up. "That is a question, which will be resolved, after you have bathed." He said, forcing a smile. Taking her by her shoulders, he spun her around. Opening the door, he gently pushed her through.

After she shut the door, Lochlan pivoted on his foot. Breathing deep and starting towards his study, his heart thumped. He shouldn't have carried her up. His emotions were too close to the surface. He didn't know what to do. To tell her that he had demanded Master's Rights because he loved her and he had seen it as a way to win her? That he had taken the coward's way and forced her into it? No, this he could never tell her. But what would he tell her?

Gripping his chin, he rubbed at the stubble. She no doubt thought him a heathen, unshaved and also covered in flour. Sighing he stopped and strolled down another hallway. Once in his room, he called for a bath, informing Henry that he wanted his razor. He would shave, and become presentable.

* * *

Vivian stepped into the cool folds of the white dress. According to the maid, the dresses were for her use. They had belonged to the Duke's mother before she died. The rest of her dresses were being washed and readied for her use. The maid had been dismayed when she had arrived. The flour was all over, and would be a mess to remove. This proved true, especially from her hair.

When they had finally battled through the flour, the maid smiled and pushed her hair back. "You said his lordship is expecting you in his study. I will take you up."

Following close behind the maid, Vivian held her breath. The Duke had seemed very angry, yet she wasn't sure what he was mad at. Upon seeing her, he had become angry. But was it her, or her state, that had made him angry. This she would have to learn, and to discover this, she would have to brave him and demand the answers that he had been hiding from her.

"This is it miss." Said the maid with a curtsy.

"Thank you." Hesitantly she knocked. There was no answer. Slowly she opened the solid oak door. Nothing in the room moved. Breathing once more, she entered, leaving the door open. He was still washing off the flour, she reasoned. Stroking the spines of the books, she looked at the shelves. Filled to the point where no more could fit, they were huge. The dark wood reached to the ceiling, books crammed into every space possible. It was amazing that someone could find anything in the shelves.

"Is there anything interesting?"

Vivian jumped. "Your Grace! You startled me."

The Duke smiled. "That's the first thing I wanted to talk to you about. This 'Your Grace' that, and 'Sir' this, they bug me and you are not my servant with proper roles of decorum to follow." He pushed himself off of the doorframe and entered the room. "Come, sit down." he said, gesturing to a seat next to a table. Once she had sat, he sat on the table, crossing his legs. "You have given me permission to call you Vivian, I want you to call me Lochlan. Agreed?"

"But sir…Lochlan, it isn't proper!"

"Yes, but no one can dispute that if I want you to call me such, you must. My rank, my position over you, gives me that right. However, I would have you call me my name for the reason of friendship." He looked her in the eye."

But…" she tapered off. "Very well." The grin that split his face was radiant.

"Now, the second point of business. You wish to know why I have demanded the Master's Rights in return for saving your life. It is purely for selfish reasons." He held up a hand at her stunned look of surprise. "No, I do not want anything, inappropriate from you. I only want companionship, a friend. Also, you are a remarkable healer. I would like you to consider being in my employ for the time being. I don't hold with doctors and their techniques. Bleeding! Who in the world thought that draining blood would be good?"

Vivian smiled faintly. For bleeding often killed the patient more than it ever helped them. However, his first comments stuck her as half truths, why would he go through so much trouble to gain a friend? Something was not adding up, but she was too tired to push him further, knowing that he would not give her the answers that she sought, they would have to come from elsewhere. "Sir, if I may…"

"We already decided on this, it's Lochlan." He firmly reproved her.

"Lochlan," she shivered as his name rolled off her tongue. For it was a strong name. "What exactly am I supposed to do while I am not…while I am not, serving a role as a healer?"

"Whatever you feel like! This is my study; it is open to you anytime you wish, unless I am meeting with my man of business. Then I expect you to remain in another area until my business is concluded." He crossed his leg over the other. "Have you yet had a tour of the castle?"

"No, sir…Lochlan."

He grinned and jumped from his sitting position. "We must remedy that at once, healer." He said with a twinkle in his eye betraying the excitement he felt. Grabbing her hand he hauled her to her feet, his body language betraying none of the anger she had seen but minutes before. "Come!" he took both her hands and spun her around, and then pulled her back. The maneuver was not unlike a swing dance, landing her straight in his arms. He looked down at her and her eyes met his.

Breaking from her suddenly, he sobered. "Forgive me. I had no right to be angry with you earlier, or to take advantage of your kind nature. Come, and I will give you a tour of the castle." Bowing to her as he held the door open, she smiled slightly, still stunned with his sudden changes in attitude.

* * *

Lochlan mentally kicked himself. He had been so determined to find a good excuse, for that's what it was, to reason his taking of her rights, that he had been preoccupied. He hoped that by showing her the castle that she would forgive his angry tirade and his ungallant manner towards her after the flour incident. He walked her through the winding corridors, showing her every room he thought would be of interest. Saving the library for last, he hoped he had not misjudged her love of books. For as he had watched her; he had seen her read quite often, often enough he hoped she would appreciate his library.

When the door opened, she gasped. Walking in a trance, her eyes traveled over the giant cases, and the rolling ladders used to reach the top shelves. She ran her hand over the small winding staircases leading to the second and third layers of shelves. She turned to him then, from atop the second level, she smiled, her smile lighting the room as no candelabra could. "It's wonderful! I have never seen so many books in my life! Not even Morven has this many!" Lochlan felt his smile twitch, she saw it. "Do you have something against him?"

"No. Merely that he had what I wanted, and he took part of my land from me when the king became disillusioned with my service. I have no reason to hate him, other than he put a woman on trial for witchcraft when he should have been the first to defend her. That he levies heavy taxes on his people, abuses his servants, and degrades the name of Morovia, no I do not hate him, for it is too mild a word for what I feel of him. I loathe him." Forcing his emotions to calm down, he looked up to her. "Forgive me. That was not needful."

"But it was true."

Lochlan nodded as he swallowed a lump in his throat.


	11. Chapter 11

As the days passed, Vivian fell into a routine. Beginning with breakfast, she would eat in the breakfast parlor. Lunch would be either brought to her, if the weather was good and she was outside, or she would eat it in her room. Dinner was always an interesting affair, in the breakfast parlor. Lochlan never missed a breakfast or a dinner, although he continued to leave with the departure of the sun.

Some days she would take a book from the library and read in the gardens. Other days, she would use the fabric and thread and sew. Her favorite days were the ones when Lochlan would grace her with his presence or the ones when her healing knowledge was needed.

On one such day, she was browsing the library in search of a good book. Stroking the spines of the books directly before her, she startled at Lochlan's deep baritone. "Have you found anything interesting?"

Turning around, she smiled. "They are all so wonderful. I could read them all." Letting her gaze sweep the room before she turned back to him, she noticed the slight smile on his face. Pausing, she felt her smile slip into a small frown. Lochlan stood before her, splendid in his rich waistcoat of dark burgundy. He wore no cravat, leaving the strong pillar of his neck open to observation. His hands were clasped behind his back; his feet shod in knee high, black riding boots. His hair was slightly rumpled, as if he had just run his hand through it. His grey-blue eyes locked with hers, sparking like sunlight off ice. She swallowed, trying to calm her pounding heart, wondering if he knew the effect he had on people with his mere presence.

* * *

Lochlan studied her as she looked him over. Hoping that he had dressed in such a way that would meet her approval, he met her emerald eyes. Slowly he moved forward, pausing when he was just inches away from her, he held out his hand. Breaking eye contact, he looked down sheepishly. "Do you think you could stitch this for me?"

A puzzled look crossed her face before it went white. The gash across his hand was deep and already pooling once more with blood now that the bloody rag was clutched firmly in his other hand, behind his back. He had been running through the forest, as was his nighttime habit, when he had come down hard on a sharp rock. The rock had slit his paw as effectively as any knife. "What did you do?" she exclaimed, worry thick in her voice.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He chuckled. Then, reproved by her glare, he spoke, "I was in the garden…and I tripped."

"You tripped and just happened to impale your hand?" she asked with disapproving disbelief.

"It was a sharp rock! Trust me." Then he looked down at his hand. "I am not an expert at these things, but I think it would be best if we hastened the attention to my hand, else I may soon leave stains on the carpet."

Her eyes widened. "But I have none of my supplies!"

Glancing quizzically at her, he spoke. "Your brother packed them when Henry went for him. They should have been delivered to your room." Wrapping his hand once more in the bloody rag, he took Vivian's hand with the other. "Come. They should be in a trunk in your room." Pulling her quickly down the corridors, he winced at the pain in his hand. He had another scar across his foot, and yet another above his eye. Ones that Vivian recognized. He couldn't have another to mark him, Andimar and Lord Claymore, the one and the same. For when he had sliced his foot last, he had sewn it up, which had been the reason that he was now left with a scar.

When they reached her room, he pushed open the door and entered, searching the room for a trunk. Seeing one at the foot of her bed, he moved forward. "What's in this one?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. I never opened it."

He pursed his lips and opened the lid. Packed inside were sachets of herbs and other plants from her shop in Morovia. "I believe these are yours. However, this is where you take over. I don't know thyme from basil."

"Sit on the bed." She nodded to her bed before she immersed herself in the trunk. Pulling out each of the sachets, she smelled them before splitting them into piles. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she pulled out a bowl. Walking to where the pitcher of water sat, she poured the liquid until it filled the container half way. Then she took the towel from the wash bin and dampened it. Kneeling down next to him, she took his hand. Dabbing away at the blood, she grimaced at the amount. "It seems as if you cut it with a knife. It's deep." Then, without warning, she took a flask and poured alcohol onto the wound. He hissed.

As the contents of the satchels were upended into the small bowl to make a paste, he gritted his teeth, reminding himself that it would be worse if he did it himself. She looked up at him, brandishing a needle. "This will hurt also, but I have to sew it up."

Smiling, he feigned braveness. "It won't be more than a prick."

She looked as if she would laugh, but then looked back to his hand. Clenching his other fist, he gritted his teeth as she sewed the gash. Watching admiration, he chuckled. When he sewed himself up, or when Henry tried to, the stitches were never half as straight as Vivian's. She seemed not to hear him, or she was ignoring him completely. When she finished, she took a pair of scissors and cut the thread, leaving a long line of perfect stitches. Next she emptied the bowl of herbs into his hand, then, using strips of cloth, she tied a bandage around his hand, encasing it and making movement almost impossible.

"That should keep it from getting infected. It should be changed once a day until it is healed." She busied herself with replacing her things in the trunk. "When the flesh will stay together without the stitches, then the thread will have to be removed." Shutting the lid with a snap, she looked to him once more. "Is there anything else you require of me this morning? Or am I free once more to browse your library?"

"Actually, yes, there is one more thing that I need you for. Come with me." He stood swiftly, grabbing his bloody cloth once more. "Come." He led her down the hall towards his study. "I have been meaning to give this back to you for some time now. When your things first arrived, you left your journal in my study."

He glanced back at her, her face was bright red. "Forgive me, I didn't realize it was your study at the time, and I did not intend to leave it there."

"It is perfectly fine; I only wish to return it to you." He reassured her, trying to assuage her guilty embarrassment.

"Thank you."


	12. Chapter 12

Ink flowed from her pen, creating words, crafting sentences. Lochlan watched her write in her journal. What she wrote, he didn't know. He stared at his book, trying to ignore her, but it was impossible. All he could think about was the scratch of the pen as it flew across the paper, writing down the thoughts and feelings that she couldn't, or rather wouldn't, share with him. He flexed his hand. It was but two in the afternoon, and they had both retired to the library next to the roaring fire. Glancing out the window, he gave up all pretense of reading. His hand ached. The cut, which Vivian had sewed up, had closed, and only this morning had she removed the stitches from his skin.

An extremely hard blast of cold winter air hit the windows, shaking the panes. A noise from Vivian brought his head around. "Argh, I blotted it again!"

Chuckling at her indignation, he calmly asked, "And what is it that you have once again ruined?"

She looked over to him, looking adorable in with her bewitching green eyes and pouting mouth. "I have been attempting to write a poem, but I blotted it again!"

He smiled. "A poem?" Reflecting over the past days, the few weeks she had spent in his company, he had to admit to himself that she had hidden her depression well. For if she cried over her captivity, she did so where he could not see or hear her. She had become a strong pillar, standing against every wind and blast that came at her. Not only did she set broken arms, and give tonic to his servants, but she also befriended every servant in the castle. Henry quite looked upon her as a daughter. He smiled and laughed more than he ever had, and it was all because of the beautiful woman before him. The woman was a healer in her own right. Not because she could mix her brews, but because her smile brought joy to even the blackest heart.

He frowned. No doubt his was the blackest heart she had ever encountered. For he was guilty of a great many sins; sins he had no wish of recollecting, yet they flashed through his mind. Each assassination he had executed boiled to the front of his mind. The first was when he was only sixteen. Leaving each of the bodies lifeless had scared his soul and turned it black. He was dirty and unworthy of anyone's love.

Standing up, he walked to the fire place. Resting his arm on the mantle, he put his head down. Vivian had fallen silent. Watching his movements warily, she rearranged her legs into a more comfortable position. Lifting his head, he stared into the flame. Chastising himself, he sighed. Vivian may be slowly becoming acquainted to the life of the castle and its servants, but she was nowhere comfortable with his moods.

Pivoting abruptly, he strode to the door. "Excuse me, I am not in the mood for company now." Slipping through the door, he tried to erase Vivian's image from his mind. She consumed his thoughts all day, and even into the night. He had taken leave of his senses. Even Henry raised an eyebrow as Andimar rested before Vivian's door instead of haunting the woods at night, as was his custom.

His life centered on the woman with flashing green eyes and raven black hair. He would admit it to himself, no matter how grudgingly. But to do so, he would have to admit a weakness. A stab of fear shot through him. He was well known, and everyone knew of the rumors, the rumors founded in truth, that he was the King's assassin. He had many enemies, enemies who constantly looked for a weak spot. Growling he threw his fist into the wall. Cursing, he pulled his hand back and looked at the bloodied knuckles.

What he needed was a good run. A run which would clear his mind, and numb his body. Changing directions, he headed for the kitchen. When he passed Henry in the corridor, he left off his duties and followed him. Bathilde backed away bowing when he approached. Servants scattered before him like ants in a rain storm. The cook bowed, and moved to the opposite side of the kitchen as he strode in.

"Your Grace, if I may…" Henry started.

"No, you may not. Blast it!" He turned on Henry, "She's perfect! And I'm a scoundrel! How in tarnation am I to do anything without being reminded that I am a soiled soul? One who has no hope of repentance for what I have done? What I must continue to do? She's a perfect angel and I am Satan's spawn to her! I am more unworthy of her than even Morven!" Collapsing to his knees, he shook with frustrated anger and sorrow. "I should never have brought her here, nor demanded Master's Rights. No good is to come of this."

Henry bent down onto one knee, putting his hand on his master's shoulder, he spoke. "Sire, she does not hate you. One day, if you give yourself enough time, you will come to recognize this. Even the most weathered men can find happiness in life. Open yourself up. She has healed far more than your hand, if you haven't realized. Until she came here, you never spoke more than two words together. She is healing you, but you must be open to her if it is to take any true effect."

Lochlan looked up to his servant, to his friend. "How could she find anything redeeming in me? I am a monster!"

Standing up, he offered his hand, "Give it time sir."

Lochlan nodded. Grasping his hand, he stood. "I may or may not return for dinner."

Henry nodded. "Aye, sir."

Wind blasted through the doorway as Lochlan stepped out into the driving snow. The cold numbed the pain of the shift. The wind whipped through is fur, shooting icy fingers into his body, but he didn't care. His paws beat rhythmically against the ground, sinking into the drifts. He ran from his thoughts, he ran from his problems…and it did no good, for he well knew that he would have to return. He would return to the warmth and light, but for now, he wanted the frozen darkness. He wanted the blackness that infected his soul reflected in the weather.

* * *

Vivian sat stunned. Lochlan's abrupt departure had shaken her. Only moments before, they had sat in friendly silence, then in companionable conversation. For, she had learned, Lochlan did not speak much. Instead he was a solitary brooding man, a man who liked his space, and his silence.

She looked down to her page; the ink stain now seemed irrelevant. In hopes of entertaining him, she had written it. Now it seemed childish and worthless. A tear slid from her eye, and she wiped angrily at it. A second tear traveled down her cheek, splashing on the parchment, and running the ink. She slammed her journal shut as sobs wracked her body. Childishly she threw the journal across the room. Then she rushed to pick it up, her sobs turning into hiccups. The door to the library opened, fearful that it was Lochlan, Vivian spun. Relived to see that it was Bathilde, she broke down once more into tears.

"There, there, dear. It's all right." soothed Bathilde, her voice smooth as a brook. "Forgive Master Lochlan. He is rather moody at times." Vivian, who had never felt a mother's embrace, melted into the housekeeper's arms. Bathilde stroked her black hair, marveling at its softness.

"He was speaking to me…then he walked to the mantle…" She hiccupped, interrupting her tale. "Then he stormed from the room. I…I don't know what I did! I don't know what I did to offend him so!"

"Dearest, it was none of your fault. He is a troubled man, unused to a beautiful young woman in his life. He has lived here his whole life, most of it without a mother or a father. I am not asking you to put up with his rude behavior, but only forgive him his insecurities."

Vivian laughed a sad mournful laugh, "Insecurities? The man is a legend? Surely legends do not have insecurities!"

Bathilde held Vivian away from her, looking her in the eye, she said, "They have insecurities like the rest of us. Him more than most." Vivian nodded, still unbelieving. "Come, perhaps you would like a mug of chocolate in the kitchen." She offered, leading Vivian from the library.

* * *

When dinner was served, Vivian felt a keen loss. Lochlan had not surfaced from whatever darkened depths he had gone to. His place was set, but sat lonely and unused. Rather than eating, she pushed the food Henry had ladled onto her plate, around in circles. Bathilde raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Henry scowled when she stood, but also remained silent. Smiling slightly to each of the servants, she retired to her room.

Wrapping herself in her night gown, she placed a shawl about her shoulders and sat on the window bench. Staring into the night, she drifted off to sleep, thinking of her father and brother.


	13. Chapter 13

Lochlan paced his room, the message from the King crumpled in his fist. Henry snapped the last buckle into place on the full saddle bags. "Your Grace, your bags are ready for your departure. Would you like me to take them down to Midnight?" When Lochlan didn't respond, Henry tried once more to gain his attention. "Your Grace?"

"You said she didn't eat anything last night?"

Immediately aware of whom they were speaking of, he answered. "No, sir. She merely pushed the food around her plate. I didn't see one bite pass through her mouth."

Lochlan rubbed his forehead. "See that she eats Henry." Then grabbing his saddle bags from him, he stormed from the room. He was weary to the bone. Last night he had not returned, instead he had spent the night running. Running from everything, running from the very thing that he held in his hand now…an order. An order that would end someone's life.

Bathilde joined him sometime in the hall, handing him his coat and gloves. "Sir, take care now."

He glared at her. "I always do."

"Aye, that you do. But now you have more than servants and an old dusty castle to come back to."

Stopping suddenly, he grabbed Bathilde's arm. "If I don't come back,"

"Nonsense, sir, of course you will come back."

"If I don't come back," he repeated, his face hard with unshared emotion, "you know where I keep my fortune. Get her out of here, do you understand? Get her out. Take her to Elsterin, take her where Morven will never find her, take her where the King will never know of my connection. Do you understand me?"

"Aye, Your Grace, I understand plenty well."

Resuming his course, he closed his eyes. Sending a prayer winging upward, he begged to be allowed to return. His heart and soul were black and selfish, but he had sworn to protect Vivian, and he was determined to keep his promise.

"Lochlan," Her soft voice crashed into his senses, sending them reeling like a drunken sailor on a storm tossed sea. Opening his eyes, he stared down into the lovely green of her eyes. "The servants said you were leaving on business, but…" she stopped, seemingly hesitant, she dropped her eyes. "I wish to apologize for whatever offense I gave last night. I assure you none was meant."

Guilt ripped through him. He had not thought about what Vivian would think of when he had stalked from the room the night before. Reaching for her hand, he was not surprised when she offered slight resistance, for who would not despise his touching her? He was a monster. Leaning down, he placed a kiss on the back of her hand. "Forgive me; I gave a great insult yesterday. For in truth, you did nothing to be forgiven of. The fault was mine, and I ask forgiveness of you. Will you forgive my rash departure?"

When she looked up to him, it was torture. The tears welling in her eyes wanted him to beat someone, namely himself. He had caused the tears. "Truly? I did nothing to offend you?"

"Truly, you did nothing. It was my fault, and I would own your forgiveness, if you would give it."

Smiling weakly, she nodded. "Aye, you have it."

Leaning down once more, he placed another kiss on her hand. "Forgive me once more, but I must leave. I have business in the North." She nodded once more, and he left. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he swore he would come back. Even as the cold air pierced his coat, he swore he would return to her light and warmth, the light of her smile, and the warmth of her laughter. He may be a blackguard, but he would return for as long as she would let him.

Mounting Midnight, he gripped the reins in his hands. Turning to look once more at Claymore, he saw Bathilde and Henry, standing in their usual spots, on opposite sides of the entry way. Emotion clogged his throat, for Vivian stood, her black hair flying free, in the middle. Tin the exact place where his wife would stand, one day.

Turning Midnight, he urged him on.

* * *

The night was cold, and it stung his face as the air whipped past him. Midnight's breath no longer came in gasps. They had ridden hard, only just barely stopping to cool down. Now they were again on their way, Lochlan ran besides his horse. They had done it countless times before, so often, that the horse was no longer afraid of the huge wolfish-dog that ran besides him.

As the dog slowed to a halt, so did Midnight. A head of them laid Tiger Halt. The city burned brightly with the torches of the sentries, and the cooking fires of the civilians. Lochlan snuffed, indicating that they should move. However, a charger such as Midnight could not be seen running alone.

This time the shift hurt much more, fighting the moon's pull was always hard. But this time it was fractionally easier, for he had spent hours the day before, as a monster. When he had run from Vivian, he had unconsciously helped himself. After the pain left, Lochlan swung up on Midnight.

Over the years, he managed to learn to control his curse to an extent. He was still required to spend time as a wolf, but, under certain conditions, he could spend a night out of wolf form. If he spent more time in wolf form during the day, he could better resist the call of the moon at night.

As they approached the city gate, the guards hailed them to stop. "Who goes there?"

"I am Duke of Claymore, Lochlan Chael! If you knew what was good for you, you would not leave me out here to freeze." He intoned with irritation. Midnight pawed the ground, snorting in irritation. The gates swung open moments later. Looking down to a guard, he used the most condescending tone he could, "And where would I find a suitable inn at this hour?" Midnight shook the reins and pranced in place, looking everything like an impatient horse of a noble.

The guardsman tipped his helm and ducked his head, "Your Grace, just down this road there is an Inn. The Golden Crown, sir. They cater to the likes of you, sir. The King himself visited once, so I am told."

"Hmmm. We shall see. For your trouble, I suppose." He said, flipping a coin at the man before riding off. He would spend the night here, then ride to Livenden in the next day or two, depending on the road. Three days if it snowed this night.


	14. Chapter 14

Claymore Castle stood in solitary silence. Vivian had taken to wandering the halls, wondering at the history of the silent castle. When Lochlan had been there, the castle was full of sounds and smells. But now, now when he was gone on business, the castle staff seemed as dull and sorrowful as their Master. Vivian thought of it as a huge façade, as if the servants where cheerful when the Master was there, to try to bring cheer to the castle and lighten Lochlan's mood. But while He was gone, there was no point in trying. Trying for what? Vivian did not know. What she did know, was that the history of the castle, and its inhabitants, was something no one wished to speak of, but everyone knew…everyone but her.

Bathilde attended to her every need along with whatever maid was present. She never lacked for food, nor for companionship. Henry was always there to lend a hand, or to speak too. She was happy, so to speak, but she missed her family, missed her home, and missed familiarity.

* * *

It had been just over a week since Lochlan had left. Bathilde wouldn't say to where he had gone, only that he went North on the King's business. A business that no one would know how long it would take, so when the great doors flew open, and servants came running through the corridors, shouting orders left and right, Vivian smiled. Rushing through the hall ways, she gave no heed to the maids running back and forth.

Stopping herself on the grand staircase, she smiled. Lochlan stood like an immovable pillar in the center of the hubbub. Suddenly, as if he could feel her gaze, he looked up. A grin split his weary face. Then Bathilde said something to him and he dragged his attention away from her.

With the absence of his gaze, Vivian felt her confidence leave. Before she he had left, he had promised that his departure was on business and had nothing to do with her. But now, watching the maids ready a bath for his Lordship, watching Henry drag logs up for a fire, and watching Bathilde speaking with him, she doubted his assurance. Why would he have left so suddenly if it wasn't anger at her? Rubbing her hand, the one he had kissed, she turned and fled to her room, fearful of the fear she felt. For in truth, she shouldn't care, she told herself. Why would she care what he thought of her? Why indeed?

* * *

Lochlan's body felt bruised all over as he rode up to the castle. When he opened the door, he had to smile at the familiar hustle and bustle of his return. Water was being heated, wood brought up, reports given, everything as it had always been. As the servants performed a dance of duties around him, he felt a prickle of awareness, someone was watching him. Glancing up, his face split into a grin. Vivian's eyes connected with his. He fancied that she looked pleased to see him. Her stance above the great stairway made him feel as if he were gazing into the eyes of an angel.

"Lochlan, are you listening to me?" He glanced down from the vision before him, to look at his housekeeper, who was obviously put out at having to call to him more than once.

"Aye, I am listening now." He said smiling.

"Good." She smiled before proceeding to give an account of the workings of the Castle while he was gone. He noticed however, that she spoke nothing of Vivian.

The hall was empty by the time she finished. "And what of Vivian? How did she fare?"

"She seems to have taken a sudden interest in the painting gallery, sir."

"The paintings?"

"Aye, she wonders at the history of Claymore, your history, sire." She said, wringing her hands together. "Henry made sure she ate though. She 'as also been sleeping later, and staying farther up into the night pouring over some of the medical texts you have in your library."

"I see. Is there anything else I should know about?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, fully aware that her nervousness was betrayed through her hand actions.

Bathilde swallowed, "I am aware that you put her in the room you put her in for a reason. However, she has asked to be allowed to change rooms. She wants something smaller, something "more suited to reality," is what she said. I said that she would have to bring it up with you, sir, but I don't know if she will. For she still fears that she insulted you in some way."

Lochlan felt his brow crease with frustration, "How could she believe that when I told her different myself?"

Clearing her throat, Bathilde interrupted, "If I may, sir?"

"Go on then…enlighten me." He growled.

"First of all, I believe that before you confront her, you bathe yourself and shave. Secondly, she is not to blame for her fears. You can be truly terrifying when you wish, and even when you don't wish. When you stalked out of that library the day before you left, you scared the daylights out of me with that expression you were wearing. She told me herself that you had been in conversation with her only moments before you stormed from the room. Vivian is not used to your manners yet, so of course she believed she was to blame."

"But I told her she was not to blame! I told her this before I left!" he ground out.

"Lochlan Chael, that girl has had her heart broken more times than you or I know. She is insecure about herself; that much is evident. When I went to her in the library she was in tears! She doesn't trust you or any man. I have read what she puts in her journal."

"You are reading her private things?" Lochlan stormed.

"No, sir! That is not what I meant. I was helping her to bed, and she knocked over her journal. I bent to pick it up, nothing more. I accidentally read a few sentences."

Lochlan stopped, and her comments sank in. "She doesn't trust me? Or any man?"

"No," she shook her head, "In the sentences that I read, she said how both her father and she were sure that Morven was going to propose to her, and how in the end, when it mattered, her trust was unfounded. Then she wrote about how she felt betrayed that her father would give her up so easily, how he would not even linger until he was well…"

"And the last lines you read?" he asked in a broken whisper.

"The last lines were about you, sir. About how you championed her, and how she was fearful to be in the hands of so powerful a man. She fears your purpose in bringing her here. Putting this with the way you acted before you left, I believe that she fears what you will do with her."

Lochlan rubbed his temple, "I would never hurt her."

"I know sir, but she doesn't."

"Thank you Bathilde. I am not to be disturbed until dinner." He ordered, walking away. Then he stopped, "Does she still eat at the same time? In the same place?"

"Yes, sir."

Wearily taking the stairs, he stopped where Vivian had stood. Placing his hand on the banister, he smiled. Even if she was not at home, he hoped she knew how loyal his servants were to her, how they would always be her friend, through hell or high water. Slowly he resumed the progress to his room. Henry was waiting, with the bath and a razor.

"Sir, you look slightly out of sorts."

"Henry, what does Vivian think of me?" he asked as he stripped.

"Sir, am I answering as a friend or a servant?"

Lochlan slipped into the warm water, feeling his muscles relax. "Will it make a difference?"

"Perhaps."

"Then as a friend."

"I think she has the potential to love you. If you play your cards right, allow her into your life and be honest with her, she may come to look at you as more than a captor. For that is what you are to her at the moment. You were her rescuer, but now you are holding her here. Trapping her in this snowbound castle, away from everything familiar, is not the way to win her heart. You must control your temper, and your moods. You can't rush off the day before an order from the King and then leave for a week. You must be there, be a pillar she can come to for support."

"And what would you say to me as my servant? Tell me this Henry."

"I would say that she is terrified of making a wrong step around you. I would also say that you have succeeded in your intimidation. She will not cross your path on purpose, sir."

"I see." He said, a moment before he submerged himself in the water, face and all.

* * *

A knock on his door, broke Lochlan from his musings. "Enter!" he ordered, lifting his head from his hands, and rubbing his legs where his elbows had been resting for the past two hours. A maid entered, carrying a pitcher of warm water.

"Bathilde asked me to bring this up to you so you could wash for dinner, Your Grace." She put it down on the wash stand, and left.

Standing, he groaned. Hours of nonstop travel had battered his body. He had wanted to come and go as quickly as his job allowed. Now he dreaded the very thing he had looked forward to, speaking with Vivian. It had been her face he had seen in the chilling snow while he had rode, the fire burning in her eyes was the ultimate goal, to get back to the warmth. But now, now he feared her reception of him.

Using a cloth, he cursed himself for being a sentimental fool. Henry had said himself that Vivian would not seek to cross his path again, and he was not ready to be open with her, with anyone, with the full extent of his curse. Some hapless woman somewhere would undoubtedly carry his heir before he died, but it would not be Vivian. He would not curse Vivian with that knowledge, that any child born to her would be a monster, that her husband would owe more allegiance to the moon that to her.

He felt self-hatred boiling in his blood. His wife, whoever she was, would have to deal with the same thing his mother had, the fact that she had married a monster, and gave birth to its heir also. He vowed to himself, then and there, that Vivian would never have to know of that grief, even if it meant giving up all hope of winning her.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he hated the man he saw, the monster. Driving his fist through it, he shattered the offending piece of glass into thousands of shards. Then, carefully, he dipped his hand in the warm water, hissing at the pain. Cautiously he took the glass from his hands, placing it on the towel. Then, taking a piece of his shirt, he ripped a strip long enough to wrap around the bleeding knuckles. Changing his shirt, he left the room and made his way to the breakfast parlor.

* * *

Vivian had hid the rest of the day in her room. Tempted not to come out for the evening meal, she had forced herself to dress nicely and to pull her hair up. However, when she entered the parlor, she stopped in the doorway; Lochlan was nowhere to be seen. Breathing a sigh of relief, she choked on the next breath.

"If you would kindly enter the room, I am sure the servants have prepared an excellent dinner for us tonight." Vivian shivered. His breath on the back of her neck toyed with the light hairs at her nape.

Scrambling to enter, and move out of the way, she exclaimed, "Of course, sir, forgive me!"

"You are forever apologizing for things you needn't." he grumbled. Walking to her chair, he waved away a servant, pulling it out himself.

Vivian watched as he pulled her chair for her, something he had never done, rather he had let his servants do it. She slapped herself mentally. He means nothing by it. Only that he is never here on time to do so. She told herself. Hesitantly she walked forward, and sat on the offered chair.

Only after he sat did she see the makeshift bandage on his hand. Her gasp brought his head up instantly. "What is it?"

"Your hand! What did you do to it?" She stretched her hand across the table, wishing to see his hand. But rather than give it to her, he tucked it beneath the table.

"I punched something." He mumbled, ashamed at his lack of self control.

"Is it broken?" she asked, retracting her hand.

"I don't believe so. Only the flesh seems to be hurt." He looked up then, towards the door then. Their conversation stopped as food was brought in and served.

She smiled at Henry as he put, once again, a serving larger than she could ever eat on her plate. "Thank you Henry."

"My pleasure, Miss Vivian. And may I suggest, if you are still hungry, that you take seconds from His Lordships plate?"

Lochlan's attention snapped back to the two of them, and Vivian felt herself blush. Then looking to Henry she hissed, "You know very well that would be improper, not to mention that I doubt I could eat all this in two meals, let alone one!"

"You never know."

Lochlan turned to look at Vivian and Henry. The comment about his plate was a veiled comment, meant to do something. But for the life of him he couldn't figure out what, and when Vivian blushed a bright shade of pink, and coyly hid her eyes, his heart thumped.

The girl was a temptress. Her enchanting green eyes beckoned to him with hidden secrets. Her black hair was coiled in a beautiful coif, showing off the graceful curve of her neck.

Henry stood straight once more, winked at him, and left. What that meant, he had no clue. He only knew that when he looked back at Vivian, his appetite for food vanished. She was looking up at him through her long, black eye lashes, biting her lip. Clearing his throat, he forced his gaze to his food. Picking up a fork, he searched for a conversational topic.

"Bathilde says that you would like to change your room, or rather the location of your room. May I ask for what reason this is wanted?"

"No, no. They are very pleasant, only they are too big. I feel as if I am drowning in such a large space."

"So it is not the accommodations, but rather the space." Tapping his fork on his top lip, he thought. "There are one or two smaller rooms throughout the castle…I could take you to look at them. That is if you aren't opposed to spending a few moments with me, after dinner of course."

With that comment, Vivian looked at him strangely. "After dinner? But don't you usually sleep with the sun?"

"I can make an exception; truly, it wouldn't be a problem, but rather an honor."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure, I assure you."

* * *

Lochlan reveled in the feel of Vivian's hand on his arm as he escorted her. The sun had fallen below the horizon around an hour ago, and he could already feel the pull of the moon becoming stronger. However, he had one more room to show Vivian, one more then he could leave. But until that one was over, he could revel in her touch.

"This is the last one I would like to show you." What he didn't tell her, what that his room, was just two doors down. This had been the room meant for his wife. The room between this and his was simply a waiting room. If she liked this room, he would have the connecting doors locked, and then the key given to her. If she wanted this room, it would be hers.

Opening the door, he allowed her to precede him. Her gasp of surprised awe warmed him. Unwilling to admit the reasons for it, he was glad that he had ordered this room prepared along with the one Vivian was currently in. He watched her with a smile on his face as she waltzed around the room, looking over every corner of the room. "It's beautiful!"

The room was simple. Lochlan grinned; it was simple because it was meant only to house a temporary occupant. A wife was expected to spend more time with her husband than without. Suddenly he sobered. He had promised himself he would not subject her to such horrors. She would not be his wife, for she would loathe him for what he was.

Suddenly he startled. Vivian's hand had run across his brow, "What worries you Lochlan? Why do you frown?"

He didn't know why he felt the way he did, but he knew that if he were to kiss her now, she would not resist. Reason fought with judgment, both warring in his mind, warring in his eyes.

"What is it Lochlan? What troubles you?" She asked once more, cupping his jaw in her hand.

Grabbing her hand away from his face, he leaned down. His lips met with hers, and after a moment of startled resistance, she kissed him back. His mind spun with pleasure and shock; pleasure at knowing her kiss, and shock at her seemingly willing acceptance. Reason finally won out. Breaking from her, he shook his head. "Forgive me; I should not have done that." Breaking from her completely, he fled from the room, his thoughts in complete chaos.

* * *

Darkness shadowed the room as Vivian collapsed on the bed. Staring into the darkened depths, she placed her fingers on her lips, still stunned. She sat for a minute, forcing her heart to beat a regular rhythm. As it slowed to a steady thump, she looked at her own hand, questioning. Why had she touched him in such a familiar way? Perhaps it was the look of lost desolation that she had seen, warring with some other emotion in his eyes. Perhaps it was her own wish to be comforted from the loss of her home and family.

Whatever it was, she took sinful pleasure in knowing his kiss. It would have been a blind woman indeed who would not have been attracted to a man as powerful as him. His black hair and glittering ice blue eyes gave him a sense of cold, secretive power. The scar above his eye helped enforce this image, along with his incredible bulk and height.

She had no doubt that his massive arms were not from eating too many sweet foods, for she had been carried in his arms when she had fainted. She had also seen the mastery of his weaponry, had watched him best each and every opponent to save her.

She also knew that Lochlan was wary. Deducting this from the way he sat, even when at ease, she knew he was of military training. His eyes took everything in…everything. When he sat, his eyes would dart over every exit. He always sat ready, as if he expected conflict with every blink of his eye. His hands never strayed far from his belt where he kept at least two daggers.

Yes, she admitted to herself. She had enjoyed the brief kiss, even if she would never admit it to another living soul. Dropping her head into her hands, she allowed a tear to leak through. Heartbreak washed through her like a wave on the shore. Morven had forsaken her, and he would have left her to the wolves. But he had never held her allegiance, or admiration. No, what washed through her was despair. Despair at knowing that Lochlan, or any man such as him, could never love her. That she would never have the love of a man as great as the Duke of Chael.

She had never sought power, but only comfort. Thinking that she had found it in Morven, both she and her father had thought that he would propose. However, it seemed that the charge of witchcraft could change whatever he had felt in whatever heart he possessed.

Wiping her tears from her face, she stood. Moving for the door, she stopped, Lochlan's words resounding through her head, _"Merely that he had what I wanted, and he took part of my land from me when the king became disillusioned with my service. I have no reason to hate him, other than he put a woman on trial for witchcraft when he should have been the first to defend her. That he levies heavy taxes on his people, abuses his servants, and degrades the name of Morovia, no I do not hate him, for it is too mild a word for what I feel of him. I loathe him."_

Breaking into tears once more, she thought of how cruel the world was. She thought of what Lochlan must have gone through, to earn the scar above his eye, and to become the King's right hand man, the First Commander of the King's Army. The man's eyes spoke of years of weathering, years of harsh treatment.

But what she saw most in his eyes, if she had not been mistaken, threatened her peace of mind. Throwing the door open, she ran for her room, blindly floundering through the castle, tears inhibiting her vision.


	15. Chapter 15

They had avoided each other for nearly a week before Lochlan had finally come to dinner. As he entered the room, Vivian cast her gaze downwards, feeling uncomfortable under his glance. When he sat down, Henry rushed to set a place for him. Silence reigned.

"Forgive me. I took advantage of this past week to take care of some…business in the capital. I should have left you some knowledge of my whereabouts."

Vivian almost choked on her food. An apology for his whereabouts had not been what she had expected. In fact, she had not even known he was gone, only that he was avoiding her.

He left soon after that, having eaten his dinner and returning to his normal schedule.

* * *

Morven paced his chambers. The small, but cherished portrait of Vivian sat on the bed where he had placed it moments before. A hole in his chest, where his heart belonged, burned dully. Vivian had always been there when he had needed to talk, she had been his pillar. Her healing hands had much the same effect as her healing words. Turning he cursed Lochlan Chael once again.

Spitting venomously into the fire, he reached for the portrait of Vivian. Holding it to his chest, he closed his eyes. It was true that she had been condemned of witch craft, but it was also true that he loved her. Scheming, he returned the painting to the mantle. One way or another, he would return Vivian to her rightful place…here, with him, Duke of Claymore or no.

Striding from his chambers, he called for his servants to attend him, a plan already forming in his mind. He had gained the ear of the King, now was the time to use his influence. Duke Lochlan Chael of Claymore would meet a terrible end if he had his way. Nothing would stop him now.

Calling for his horse and his ridding cloak, he stormed out into the great hall. When there was no visible sign of compliance, he grabbed a servant girl by the arm, he scowled. "Fetch me my things girl. I am in no mood to be trifled with tonight."

Squeaking a quick apology, she ran from him, up the stairs.

Nearly furious by the time his horse was brought around, he glared at everyone as he mounted. "I am off to Toroch. I do not know how long I will be, but everything will be in order when I return or there will be blood to pay." Digging his spurs into the horse's flanks, he galloped off, the hate burning in his chest keeping him warm in the dead of the winter night.

* * *

Vivian stood in the doorway, watching as the servants rearranged the furniture. The room that Lochlan had shown her last, the one where he had kissed her, had seemed the best choice for her. It was much smaller, and more to her tastes. Henry had assured her that the lord of the manor would be very pleased she had found a room that she liked. Then, upon her insistence, he had asked Lochlan himself if it was acceptable for her to occupy the room.

Henry had returned with the same assurances he had before given, and a key. Saying that it was to the other door and that Lochlan had ordered her to keep it locked at all times. This had caused Vivian to pause, and wonder what was beyond the door she had never opened, but it also caused her to wonder at Lochlan's continued avoidance of her. True, he had resumed having his dinner with her. But now he rarely spoke, always avoiding her in the halls and grounds.

When she did manage to stumble across him, he always excused himself with a bow, leaving as fast as he could. With no comfort from the man she had begun to call friend, she felt herself falling into despair. Henry and the other servants tried valiantly to cheer her, but while they could make her laugh, she had no one to lean on. She missed her father and brother keenly, yet she would not speak of the hurt to Lochlan even if he would talk to her. So she poured her feelings into her journal, always careful to never misplace it, hiding it where no one could find it.

* * *

Lochlan watched the window, catching glimpses of servants as they moved around the furniture. Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, he shivered, trying to quell the burst of satisfaction in him. She had chosen the room next to his, the one where he had kissed her. Berating himself, he reminded his willful heart that she was out of his reach. No mother should ever have to go through the pain of knowing her child was a monster; no wife should know her husband was the reason for her pain.

A stinging remorse coursed through him. He could give her nothing but heartache and despair. Trudging through the snow he felt a conviction drop into place. He loved Vivian as surely as the sun rose each morning, but she didn't need to be here, trapped in the confining castle, stifled by everyone she knew nothing of. He would let her go. As much as it tore his heart, he couldn't hurt her anymore by keeping her from her father, from her brother.

Walking for the castle, he felt a blackness descend on him, as if the world had lost its light. He would do it this night. Tell her at dinner. She would leave on the morrow, leave him to a life void of joy and happiness, but she would not know of the darker side, she would only know joy and relief at the reunion of her family, she would know no grief, only pleasure.

"Master Lochlan! Thank goodness I have found you!" Lochlan's head snapped up as Bathilde ran towards him. "Oh my goodness, sir! The rider just arrived with your invitation to the King's Winter Celebration. I hadn't realized that it was this close! And to think that he was delayed by the storm! Sir you won't make it in time for the opening feast unless you leave tonight."

Feeling his face set into its normal stoic look, he took the letter from the distraught housekeeper. Turning it over, he scowled. It was for the King's Christmas annual festival. Something that he had always wished to be rid of, year after year he had paraded through the king's games. Dressing up as the dashing officer, always the prize for a lucky maiden, he had come to hate the king's festivities even more than the man himself.

"Ready my things. I will be leaving tonight after dinner."

"Of course, sir."

He watched as Bathilde scurried off. Deciding that he would not tell Vivian of his decision now, but when he returned, he began to walk once more. As he entered the keep, his boots rang off the walls. Pausing in the great hallway, he looked towards the ceiling. The three chandeliers gleamed in what little light there was. They had never been lit in his life time, nor were they likely to.

"Sir! If you will, are you planning on riding or driving?" The servant's voice rang out through the air.

"I will take my usual trip arrangements. Ask Henry to attend me in my room."

"Yes sir! Will do, sir." The serving boy dashed back up the stairs, leaving Lochlan to his musings once more.

Slowly he began moving for his room. Watching as each servant hustled back and forth, some preparing his journey and others for Vivian. He felt a pang in his heart…how he wished things had been different. If only he had had a father who had no cursed ancestry…then he could be the man Vivian would look at with more than contempt.

Pausing before the last stretch of hallway before his rooms, he waited and listened.

"Oh no, put this one there…a few more inches…yes there! That's perfect!"

Her voice was like the calming surf on the ocean, soothing his worries and haunted mind. A hand on his shoulder startled him, though he showed no outward surprise. Henry's voice had a smile as he spoke. "She truly is a beauty, in heart and mind."

Lochlan smiled. "She is. And she does not belong here, trapped in this castle with such a beast as I."

"Perhaps if you tell her she will not be as repulsed as you would believe. She has a very kind heart."

"She would run in fear."

"Someday I hope you change your mind, sir."

"That day will never come." Breathing deep, he took a step forward, hoping that Vivian wasn't outside her room. Thankfully she didn't notice him as he passed. Slipping into his room with Henry on his heels, he looked around. The room was sparse, and had nothing of comfort in it but a bed. The bed itself was not lavish, but rather minimally functional. He rarely spent his time here; there was nothing to hold him. Turning to Henry, he gave a half deprecating smile. "I want you to leave as soon as you are packed. Take Midnight with you. The luggage will follow after. I will remain here until after dinner, and join you on the road sometime soon thereafter."

"Will I be returning, or am I to stay with you for the duration of the festivities?"

"You will stay with me, unless I deem otherwise when we arrive." Lochlan returned to his closet, where he had been rummaging but a moment before. Pulling out his clothes, he tossed them to Henry to pack. "I find these uniforms ghastly. Who invented them I wonder? Certainly not the people who had to wear them."

"But if I may venture, you certainly look dashing in them."

Making a disgusted noise, he replied…"Oh yes, every solitary man's dream…to look dashing."

"Someday it will be." Henry muttered, earning him a hard reproving look.


	16. Chapter 16

Dinner that night was simple, for many of the servants had been active all day in preparation for various things. When Henry hadn't come in to serve as was his usual custom, Vivian knew something was different. When Lochlan himself walked in, dressed in traveling clothes, her suspicions were confirmed. "Forgive me, but I must leave once more on the King's business. I have sent Henry ahead of me. I shall be gone a week at the least, two at the most. If you have need of anything, the servants will get it for you. If you have need of me," Vivian almost smiled as he choked on his words with what seemed embarrassment, "send word through a rider."

Lochlan left at his normal time, and Vivian watched his back disappear down the hall before she let the smile fall from her face. While some of the warmth had returned to his demeanor and eyes, over all he had not been the same towards her after he had kissed her. Putting one hand to her lips, she dug in her pocket until she found the key Henry had given her. Lochlan was leaving this night…the same night she would discover what lay behind the door in her room.

Moving silently up the corridor, she glanced out the window, just in time to see Andimar bolt from the kitchen door and towards the outer walls of the keep. Smiling, she laughed and continued on her way. She met no one on her way up, and when she entered the room, it smelled pleasantly of cedar and some other spice she couldn't identify.

Slowly, filled with anticipation, she inched her way towards the unknown door. The key slipped into the knob smoothly, as she knew it would. A soft click indicated it was open. Light with giddiness, she swung the door in. The well oiled hinges made no sound. Darkness quickly enveloped her. Reaching back for the light on the mantelpiece, she gripped the silver candelabra and walked into the room.

Once illuminated, a comfortable sitting room was revealed, free of dust. Obviously well looked after, it puzzled Vivian why it should be locked up…then she caught sight of another door. Moving to it, she tried it on the off chance it would open. It did.

This door swung open, revealing a large, but scarcely decorated room. The four poster bed was made with fine sheets, but there were no curtains hung around it. There was a chest at the foot that she dared not to touch. A wash stand, which by the looks of it had been recently used, sat next to the door. A growing suspicion gnawed at her as she walked towards the closet. Opening it up, she gripped the door frame as her knees buckled. There before her, in neat rows, hung the very waistcoats she had dreaded.

Lochlan's rooms were connected directly with hers. Slowly backing up, she shut the door, and left the room, fleeing as fast as she could. Throwing shut the door within her new room; she locked it then sank to her knees. He had known their rooms connected when he had shown her this room, when he had kissed her, when he had given her the key.

After what seemed like hours, but in reality it was but a few minutes, Vivian stood and readied herself for bed. Once she slipped into the coolness of the sheets, and her head hit the pillow, she was asleep.

Andimar shook his fur, flinging droplets of water from the thick coat. He was gaining on Henry, closing the distance with each paw mark. The road itself was relatively packed down, but Andimar couldn't take the chance of being seen and mistaken as a wolf, so he traveled on the side of the road, hidden by the banks. His even pace was accented with each breath as it chilled and turned to frost behind him in the cold night air.

He smelled rather than heard Henry first. Breaking from the bank in a shower of snow, Andimar fell in step with the horses, Midnight sparing him hardly a glance. Henry merely nodded and picked the pace up, cantering towards the capital.

As they continued on their way, Andimar occasionally switched his position; moving from the front to the back. They met no travelers on the road. The snows from the Silver Mountains kept most away, the rest were turned back by the bitter night.

* * *

Henry halted on the last rise before Tiger Halt. Andimar bent his head in consideration, the night was waning, and the horsed would need to rest, as would Henry. However, if they pushed on, they could reach the capital by the next night fall. Sitting on his haunches in the cold snow, Andimar shook his head, throwing droplets of water everywhere; Midnight snorted in annoyance. Then be began moving, taking the path towards the city rather than around it. They would stay for the rest of the night and a few hours into the morning.

As they rode to the gates, the guards hailed them to stop. Andimar quickly dropped behind the horses. "Who goes there?"

Henry's voice answered, loud and clear, "'Tis the servant of Duke Chael. I am traveling with his horse and dog to the capital. The snows made us start later than wished, and we now seek shelter for the rest of the night."

"Where is the Duke? Why would he not be with you now?"

"He came by about a week past."

There was some muttering between the guards, but soon thereafter the gates swung open to allow them admittance.

* * *

The roads to the capital were much more frequented in winter than the roads to Y'alter. Andimar stayed close to the horses, slinking between the carts and between legs when he had to. Many gave him scared looks; for his size was not normal for any noble hunting dog…he was a wolf by all classifications.

Henry had suggested that he stay as wolf form, for the King would surely want to speak with him far into the night, and it would be difficult to resist the call of the moon. So for all the uncomfortable looks and stares, Andimar knew that it would turn out better for him to have control of himself later.

He allowed himself to think of Vivian but rarely, and only for a few moments. His heart hurt at the thought of losing her…but he knew that he could not keep her.


	17. Chapter 17

Lochlan! My right hand man!" King Kiefer Hale Ferdrum stood at Lochlan's entrance, waving his hand to clear away the minstrels in front of him. The courtiers split on their own, making way for the King. "Lochlan! How glad I am that you made it. I quite despaired." The crowd closed in behind their king, all staring curiously at the Duke of Chael…one noble who never came to the castle unless invited specifically. Lochlan felt their stares as he bowed to the king.

"Forgive me Your Highness, your courier was caught in a storm…he arrived late." Standing to his full height, his gaze swept across the room…identifying those in black…mourning. He swallowed a knot in his throat. Most were in black because of him. The grandeur of the room was lost on him as he struggled with self loathing.

The King's arm on his shoulder allowed Lochlan's mind to once more return to the living. "Come, sit with me and tell me how you are." The king led the both of them up the stairs to the dais. A chair was brought forth and placed at his right hand. Lochlan took it obediently, knowing that the king only meant to display his power.

The Kiefer mentioned for a servant to come forward, and then whispered something in their ear. As the servant left…the king turned back to Lochlan. "What was that about?"

Kiefer just smiled… "Lord Morven wished to be told when you arrived. I hear you have once more alienated your neighbor. What was it this time?"

Lochlan's eyes narrowed and his mouth curved into a scowl. "I'm sure this is going to be a very interesting conversation, your Highness."

Kiefer continued smiling until Morven entered…and walked to the bottom step of the dais…only then did Kiefer break into a grin. "Come Calhoun, come up and let us have this dispute settled. I cannot have my two nobles at odds with each other! It would not bode well for my kingdom." The glint in his eye was all that betrayed the king's true interest. Lochlan noticed it…swearing under his breath.

"Come, let's have it out, shall we?" Morven now stood just in front of the king, and to his left. "Calhoun, your side of the grievance please."

"But of course, your Highness." Morven said, bowing low. By now the entire room of courtiers had fallen silent…watching the power struggle take place above them. "You see, there is this woman whom I have loved deeply for quite a while now. Only a few weeks ago I was on my way to propose to her…" Lochlan ground his teeth together…his suspicions confirmed. "…when she was brought in by my guardsmen. She had been accused of killing a man, and then with witchcraft."

Lochlan looked to the king whose face still remained in the same expression of moments before.

"But you see the woman in question is a healer. The man whom she was accused of killing did not follow her directions and killed himself on his medicine. As for the charge of witchcraft…my guards now admit that it was nothing but ash that she threw at them."

"But I do not see how this involves Duke Chael. I quickly tire of this Calhoun, speak quicker." Kiefer's face had fallen into a mask of boredom…yet the glint in his eye still told Lochlan to tread carefully…the king was thinking more than he let on.

"But of course, I was getting to that part next. Because of her charge of witchcraft, Vivian demanded trial by combat, asking her father to be sent for. Her father never came. In his place rode Duke Chael. It suffices to say that Chael bested my champions and freed Vivian. I know that he has taken her and has not let her free from his castle. I am asking you to intervene and demand that the Duke free her."

The king sat silently, his hand running over his chin. "Ah, so it is a lover's quarrel you ask me to mediate. But first, two things; you said he beat your champions? There was more than one?"

"Aye, for I did not know which her father would wish to fight. Chael declared he would take all comers." Morven explained while shifting his weight from one foot to the other and folding his arms before him.

"Hmmm. Interesting. Now, Lochlan, your side if you please."

"Certainly." Looking hard at Morven, Lochlan began, aware of every ear in the room listening to him. "Miss Raen's father was attacked by bandits on the way to this trial by combat. He collapsed in my front hall, begging for me to send someone to save his daughter. I agreed that I would go if he gave me Master's Rights. He granted them, I won, I keep Miss Raen."

Kiefer's face broke into a brilliant smile. "Well said Lochlan." Then, looking to Morven, he said, "Brief reports, they are so much more informative. Perhaps when you learn to master them you may have a shot at what Lochlan has. I cannot listen to details…I don't have time."

Motioning forward another servant, Kiefer took a glass of wine. "Lochlan, you will send for this Vivian Raen. Bring her to court. I would so very much like to meet her." Both Lochlan and Morven inwardly flinched, knowing well how the king liked to play with new comers as pets. "And, since you have Master's Rights, perhaps Morven can ask you for her hand in marriage, and you could agree. Then we shall all be happy. He shall have his wife, and you shall have a burden lifted from you."

"I shall send for her as you wish, but I shall not give her to Morven."

The king looked at him. Either the king already had it pieced together, or he saw what he wanted in Lochlan's eyes. "Ah, so it is a lovers' quarrel." Then he looked to Morven, "Calhoun, it seems you shall have to woo her from my Commander." He turned back to Lochlan, "Lochlan send for her. She will be betrothed before the season is over, either to you or to Morven."

Lochlan clenched his hand around the arm of the chair, trying hard to talk himself out of striking the king. Morven looked as shocked as Lochlan felt…although he knew that his face masked his feelings better. "Very well, I will take my leave and write to Miss Raen." Lochlan stood, straightening to his full height, he glowered down at Morven. As he passed, he whispered just loud enough for Morven to hear, "You almost took her from me once. I will not give you the same chance you gave me."

* * *

Kiefer watched his face in his hand. He watched as Lochlan whispered something into Calhoun's ear. He watched as the courtiers parted like butter on a hot knife…the king watched as Lochlan struck fear into the hearts of everyone present. He chuckled a low nervous laugh. Lochlan Chael was capable of many things, and would be dangerous to have as an enemy. He smiled a dangerous smile while fingering the chord round his neck. He had no true fear, for Lochlan was bound to him.

* * *

Lochlan slammed the door shut behind him. Storming across the room, he ripped out writing supplies. After blotting his first three attempts, he threw down the quill. Standing up once more, he paced the room furiously. The king loved his sports. He loved watching helpless animals run down and killed. He loved to watch the innocent suffer.

Shaking with anger, he sat down on the bed. Vivian would be here…she would be in the castle surrounded by men who would sooner do her harm than open a door for her. She would be surrounded by those even stranger than his servants at the castle. He would be her only protection. Not even Morven could offer her protection. In the pack of preying wolves, only Lochlan held enough power to hold the monsters at bay.

A knock on the door brought his head up. "Come in!"

Henry slipped silently in. "Would you like me to get her?"

Lochlan sighed again, "Aye. I need you to get her. Bring Firefreeze, she shall be Vivian's horse. And ask Bathilde to keep the castle in readiness. I do not know what will happen this winter, but I know it will change the life of the castle. You will leave tomorrow morning, by which time I will have a letter for Vivian. Speak nothing to her; I will explain it in my note."

Henry approached him. "Lochlan, all will be well. Keep her from Morven. Do everything you can to turn her interest from him to you. She is already yours, yet she doubts her hold on you and will not admit it to herself that she loves you…"

"Would you have her wed a monster!" Lochlan cut in. "Do you see me! I am the most feared man in the kingdom! The second most powerful! And I'm a monster. Would you want such for your daughter, Henry? If Carol came to you and told you she was marrying a monster, and that she would give birth to monsters...would you allow it? Would you not be repulsed?" Lochlan turned his face away in shame. "I cannot give her up to Morven, but neither can I wed her."

Henry's hand was surprisingly firm on his shoulder, "Allow me to speak plainly. If you are honest with her, she will overlook what faults you have. Love is truly the most powerful magic in the world. I loved my wife until the day she died, as I loved Carol. Embrace it, don't fight it, or you shall become the monster you fear."

When Lochlan looked back a few minutes later, Henry was gone.


	18. Chapter 18

The letter was clasped tightly in her hands. Bathilde stood silently waiting, patient as always. "Bathilde, what can this mean? I have never in my life been to something grander than this Claymore Castle, and even now I am not fit to be here! How am I to do this? How am I to face the king and his entourage?"

"Vivian, what does the letter say? For I can tell it is written in Lochlan's own hand…but what did he tell you?"

Vivian looked down to the paper once more. "He writes, Vivian, forgive me for this sudden upheaval; it was nowise planned or prepared for. However, Lord Morven has petitioned the king for a removal of the Master's Rights which I hold over you. The king, in response, had demanded you be sent for. I deeply regret the urgency in which you must come to the capital. Henry is to see you here safely. Come to me as soon as you arrive, there are too many delicate details I must tell you when you arrive; they are not fit for correspondence on paper. Within the stables is a horse, Firefreeze, she is yours. Bring her with you."

Vivian looked up, "Then he ends with, yours forever, Lochlan."

Bathilde stood in shock…"He gave you Firefreeze? Why he said she was only to be given to his betrothed! What an interesting development." She stood a moment, with a far off look in her eyes. Then as suddenly as she had departed, the housekeeper snapped back to herself. "Well then, come, we must pack your clothing. No doubt Henry has already ordered the carriage."

* * *

Rain pattered on the carriage roof, lulling Vivian into a slight slumber. They had departed early in the morning, stopping only once to change horses in Tiger's Halt around midday, perhaps an hour or two after noon. According to Henry they would reach the capital close to midnight.

She had been inside the carriage for the duration of their journey because of the storm. Firefreeze was an amazing horse; one which she could not believe was hers…no matter what Lochlan's letter said, but she could not ride her in the rain. Looking out the window, she could see the dark bay, glowing even for the rain about her. She was a proud animal, closely related to Lochlan's horse Midnight, she thought. As her flanks moved in time to the other carriage horses, Vivian reflected on her name. The small amount of light dancing off of her coat was enough to convince Vivian that at high noon, with no clouds, Firefreeze's coat would reflect like dancing fire.

The carriage rumbled to a stop and Vivian waited patiently. It could be that the rain had made the road treacherous, or the driver could be resting the horses. The door to the carriage swung open, and Henry stepped in, careful to remove his cloak before getting the carriage wet. "Forgive me; I have been falling asleep on my horse. Lochlan asked me to bring you will all speed…I haven't slept."

Vivian looked at him in concern. "Then of course you must sleep in here. What would Lochlan think if you fell ill because of not sleeping?"

Henry looked at Vivian sideways, "He would tell me it's my fault and arrange the best care for me. He may seem callous on the outside, not caring what people say, but inside he is only a young man hurting from his past. He believes no one is capable of loving him, and has thus shunned himself from all that can truly make him happy. I believe you are the first good thing that he has allowed into his life."

Before Vivian could ask him what he meant by that, he had put his hat across his face and stretched out on the carriage seat…asleep, or pretending to be so. She thought back to earlier, when she had attempted to coax Lochlan into telling her why he wanted Master's Rights, he had said, _"I only want companionship, a friend."_ Henry's comments would have been in agreement with Lochlan's statement, had he not added the last part. For Lochlan was a wealthy, well respected peer of the realm…how could she, a merchant's daughter, be the first good thing in such a man's life?

She looked out into the rain, too confused to do much else.

* * *

Lochlan paced the sitting room, glaring murder at the down pour on the other side of the window. He had made his excuses with the king, and had left dinner early. Now he waited, and it was near midnight, the shift called to him, pulling him. He gritted his teeth and fought it. He needed to see Vivian arrive safely. He needed to tell her of his blunder, how he had foolishly thought Morven would let her go…and now she was trapped into marrying a monster…one way or another.

The door burst open. Lochlan turned, ready for anything…or so he thought. Morven stood on the threshold, looking quite angry. "Chael, I want you to know, that I will not step aside. Vivian is mine; she loves me…and would have married me before all this mess came up."

Fury ignited within Lochlan, but he kept a reign on it. "You're drunk…"

"What of it? She's mine, and you won't get her. No one would marry a monster like you."

"Who she chooses is for her to decide…at the moment she doesn't even know why she is being summoned to the castle. You will remove yourself before I force you to leave."

Morven stumbled into a chair. "Oh no, I'm going to be here when you tell her…don't want you making any deals behind my back…or threatening her."

Lochlan's jaw clenched and he turned on his heel, ignoring Morven's drunken chuckle. His control was slipping…he couldn't resist the night much longer. He thought he imagined it, the soft step, the sigh of skirts…Morven blundered to his feet, knocking over the chair in which he had been sitting. Turning, he saw Morven attempting a bow over Vivian's hand.

A confused look crossed her face, clearing when she spotted Lochlan. He fancied that her eyes lit at seeing him. "Vivian…"

"Vivian, forgive me," stuttered Morven, "but I am doing what I should have done long before now." He dropped to his knee. "Vivian Raen, will you be my wife."

Any anger that had previously been boiling in Lochlan's blood now called for murder…so angry was he. Yet before he could take a step to remove Morven, Vivian carefully detached her hand from his, "Sir you are drunk." Then she stepped around him and moved towards Lochlan.

If it was possible for Lochlan to love the angel before him anymore, his heart would burst. "Vivian…come, I will see you to your room. We will speak in the morning, for I don't think that either of us is awake enough at present. Vivian nodded, and took his offered arm, not even looking twice at Morven, still on his knee, watching them.

Lochlan reveled in the feel of Vivian's arm on his. "Henry is taking care of the horses, he told me to tell you that he will be up as soon as it is finished."

"Thank you. I…" He stopped, not sure what to say. "I will be up in the morning to explain." At the end of the hallway, he opened a door. "This is your room. There is a key on the dresser to lock it. If you need me, mine is just down the stairs, the first one on the right. I'll be there if you need me..."

He stopped talking, startled by Vivian's hand clutching his. "You're always there aren't you? You're always there to protect me." Then, without warning, she reached up and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you."

She left him standing there, staring at the now closed door before him. Reaching his hand up…he placed it on the wood; then slowly stepping back, he walked in a trance towards his room, not even noticing the glare that Morven shot at him.

* * *

Vivian leaned against the door, her hands on her blushing cheeks. She couldn't believe her audacity…she had actually hugged him. She had hugged Lochlan, the Duke of Chael! But even as her heart sent her blood pounding through her veins, she felt a crushing weight on her chest and she fell sobbing into tears. The growing realization that had been gaining power in her mind finally won…finally came into existence.

She loved Lochlan. Vivian Raen, daughter of a merchant, loved Duke Lochlan Chael of Claymore Castle.

Wiping her tears from her face, she pulled out her journal from the clutch she had been carrying. Quickly sharpening a pen from the writing desk, she poured her feelings into the worn book.


	19. Chapter 19

Lochlan was up in the morning, roving the castle before most were awake. He knew however, that he needed to speak with Vivian before anyone else could. He needed to explain things before Morven twisted the story to his benefit…or worse…the king.

It was nearly ten before the castle servants began taking breakfast around, and Lochlan was chaffing at the delayed time the royal castle ran on. At Claymore breakfast was served when the sun broke through the clouds, not hours later.

After following a servant to Vivian's room, he paced the hallway; he ground his teeth waiting for the servant to exit the room. When the serving girl exited, a tray in her hand, she sent a startled look in Lochlan's direction before scurrying for the opposite stairwell.

Unable to contain himself any longer, he approached the door and knocked firmly. There was no sound from within, and then he heard a snick of the door knob. The door swung open to reveal Vivian dressed and fully awake, leading him to believe that she had kept her normal routine and had risen early despite the late hour she had retired.

Her face flushed, but she opened the door for him to enter. Bowing to her, he entered making sure that the door did not swing shut. Surveying the room, he walked to a chair and held it for her. The room was decent. It wasn't the grandest, but then Vivian preferred simpler.

Once she was sitting, Lochlan pulled up a chair for himself. Turning it so that he straddled the seat and leaned his arms over the back, he looked Vivian in the eye. He cleared his throat and began. "First off, I ask for your forgiveness. There was no intention to drag you into this." Standing, he shoved the chair back to where it belonged and began pacing once again.

"I shall be candid." He said casting another glance at her. "Morven petitioned the king, asking for him to order a revoking of the Master's Rights that I hold over you. Morven hoped that by this he would be able to win your hand in marriage. I bluntly refused." He stopped pacing, and looked Vivian directly in the eye. "The king ordered you to be brought to court. He delights in loathsome games. You are to be betrothed to either Morven or me before the end of winter."

Her eyes widened and her breath hitched. "But…" she began, then stopped suddenly.

"But?" he prompted her, dread churning in his stomach.

"Have I no choice?" Her voice trembled and Lochlan forced himself to stay where he was.

"You have the choice of two monsters. Wed Morven, no doubt he will be able to keep you materially happy, or wed me."

"But I do not see two monsters! I see am man who has betrayed my trust and one who has protected me!" Vivian cried, sending a small thrill of hope into his chest…but he quickly smothered it, imagining his mother's horrified face.

Making his void of all emotion, he looked at her. "Do not judge so hastily. For Morven's flaws lie in his character…mine are flaws I pray you will never understand." With that, he turned and strode to the door, stopping just short of exiting. "There is a dance tonight that you will be expected to attend. A lady's maid will be assigned to you for the duration of your stay here. If…" he faltered, "If you wish me to escort you send word through a servant. If not, I hope you will save at least one dance for me." Then, before she could utter a sound, he left, fighting every emotion telling him to stay.

* * *

The day consisted of meeting after meeting. The king may disguise the season as a grand festival, but in reality, it was nothing more than a great tactical maneuver. Keifer believed in keeping his enemies close, and Lochlan was his guarantee that his enemies never got past his guarded interior. When someone learned too much, he was silenced…by Lochlan.

For the hundredth time that day, Lochlan rubbed his forehead. Keifer had been meeting with his advisors all day, planning yet another raid on Elsterin soil. He supposed the only thing to be grateful of at the moment was the fact that he wasn't leading these small field operations. As the Commander of the Kings army, he was only required when major operations were taking place.

He stood, angrily throwing his chair backwards. Keifer looked to him. "What is it Chael?"

"I need some air." Trying to compose himself, he left the room, Keifer looking after him in alarm. But he didn't care; he gave no heed to anyone else. The blackness in his heart burned dully and he despaired. All his life he had been in the practice of assassin, of killing. He had no future with Vivian, and he knew that he should not allow the small seeds of hope to grow, for they would ultimately be the death of him.

"Duke Chael?"

Snarling, he turned. "What?"

A frightened maid servant cowered before him. "Your Grace, forgive me. I was only bearing this letter to you, from Miss Vivian. She said it was of the most urgent nature and that you should receive it as soon as I could get it to you."

Purposefully ignoring his thumping heart, he accepted the letter from the servant, who quickly scuttled back into whatever cranny she had come from. Opening it, he read:

_Lochlan,_

_Earlier this morning, you explained the dilemma I now find myself in. And it is truly a dilemma, for I do not know the workings of the court. I fear that I shall need a guide, and as you have already offered yourself to me as an escort this night, would you perhaps, if it not too much trouble to you, would you escort me whenever possible on the occasions when my presence is needed? Forgive me if I have been too forward._

_~Vivian_

Folding the note up carefully, he tucked it into his pocket, careful not to add any creases. His self-loathing seemed to be gone for that instant, another seed of hope had been sown, but could he make it grow? Could he allow this one small seed to grow into something that would perhaps turn to be deadly, or grow to become the best this world could offer? Would he be able to take the risk? Would he be able to open himself to Vivian and tell her the whole truth?

For she already knew, if not for certain, that he was the King's assassin. She knew he was the second most powerful man in the kingdom, but could she over look his darkness and see the past the evil to the man beneath, the man that craved her love? Could she look past the monster?

He threw his fist into the wall, and breathed harshly. There was only one choice…give her to Morven or wed her himself. Morven had nearly gotten her the first time, and while he may have been able to live with that alternative a few months ago…now it was incomprehensible to him. Vivian would not belong to his enemy, for that would be a punishment worse than death.

Slowly he composed himself. The letter in his pocket gave him hope, gave him the will to try. He would nurture the hope Vivian had handed him, and if in the end she rejected him, then he would find a way to keep her from Morven, one way or another. Lochlan turned, looked down the passage, and slowly moved back towards the council hall. He would bear the endless discussions…he had tonight to look forward to.

* * *

Vivian's hands fluttered over her gown, smoothing it down once more. She bit her lip nervously, anxiety clawing at her belly. The maid who had been assigned to her was at least twice her age. With graying temples and a sour complexion, Vivian had no love for her. She was rough and unfriendly.

When the maid finally exited the room, Vivian risked a glance at the mirror…and to her astonishment…her hair was perfectly coifed, tendrils floating down around her face. Seed pearls glittered in her hair, throwing contrasts and highlighting her eyes. The green gown was a loose material gathered around her waist with a sash. The sleeves flowed down and around her elbows. Breathing deep, she closed her eyes.

She was horrified.

Shut in the room alone…Vivian's doubts crept up on her. Who was she to be in the royal castle, eating the king's food and being welcomed to his balls…all on the arm of the second most powerful man in the kingdom? Who was she to be here? Catching a sob in her throat she forced herself to calm down and get a grip on herself. Her self-doubts were her greatest enemy she reminded herself, echoing her father's long ago reassurances that she need never feel inferior.

Yet these thoughts did little to help her peace of mind. Lochlan had said that the king had ordered her to marry…marry one of two men. She should be grateful that she had a choice. A choice her heart had already made yet feared to reveal to any other. Deep within her, she knew that she could never have belonged to Morven. As Lochlan had astutely mentioned, Morven's faults lay within his character. She had seen those faults. She had seen it in the way he sidestepped unpleasantness, or cowered in the face of some daunting task. She had seen his faults, and she had ignored them and told herself she was lucky to have his attention…and his love. Only in retrospect could she clearly see each fault, each small thing that she had brushed off.

But Lochlan…

A knock startled her. Breathing deep, she swept across the room to the entry. The cold metal of the door knob helped ground her once more. She was in an unfamiliar setting, in an unfamiliar court, and she was determined not to let her fear and uncertainties show.

As the door swung open to reveal Lochlan, dressed to immaculate perfection, in a black waistcoat with matching trousers and glossy boots, Vivian lifted her gaze. Her eyes locked with his, and she could see understanding and protection in his eyes. He said not a word, but she knew that he would protect her and shield her from whatever lay in wait.

Silently he held out his arm, seemingly speechless. With a smooth motion, witch betrayed none of her nerves; Vivian placed her arm on his. He nodded, "That's the way. Show no fear. The castle is a dangerous place to be. Court is a pack of marauding wolves that will attack at the slightest hint of fear." He looked at her for a long moment, "Keep your chin up and your wits about you and you've won half the battle."

Throwing him a smile she hoped was optimistic, they started down the hallway. "What exactly is happening tonight? I've….I've never been to a ball before."

"Just think of it as a country dance with fancier clothes. All the same rules of decorum apply. After the dancing, there is dinner. The king has, no doubt, arranged for some entertainment and then there will be more dancing." He looked down at her… "It was my hope that you would allow me to have your dinner dance." Lochlan continued before Vivian could answer. "Of course I shall not expect an answer from you until you have danced with others, but I hope you will consider me one of your options."

Vivian barely heard the last word drop from Lochlan's lips as the trumps blared their arrival…or rather the Dukes arrival. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Lochlan's face harden and become as unyielding as stone. This was the man Toroch feared. Duke Lochlan Chael, seventh duke of Claymore, First Commander of the King's Army. He was the man that took a deep breath to calm before leading her down the stairs into the ballroom. Duke Chael was a legend, but Lochlan was a man.

* * *

Lochlan's heart thumped hard in his chest. He had done the right thing, he told himself, yet his mind rebelled against it. He had allowed Vivian to mingle with the others. Even now, as she stood in a group of young women, he wondered at the logic in his thoughts. She was safe physically to be sure, but emotionally, the she-devils could rip her apart with a few carefully placed words.

"Chael, are you listening?"

Lochlan turned back to the conversation he was having. "Forgive me, what did you say?"

The young man gave him a reproving look, but said no more. "We were debating which horse would win the race tomorrow. John says his bay is fast but not good for the long stretches. I personally think the king has a fine haunch on his quarter horse."

"It will be even between the king's quarter and my black."

"You're racing? But you never race!"

Glaring down the circle of men before him, he sneered. "This year I am."

Silence reigned for a moment before Lochlan turned his head back to look at Vivian. Nervous conversation began in hushed whispers, but he paid no heed to them. A sudden eruption of giggles caused him to look at the girls surrounding Vivian, to search out the source of amusement. Some of the girls were fluttering their fans before their faces, and others hid their smiled behind their hands…all sneaking glances at the circle of men.

Although there were many groups of people scattered all over the ball room, Lochlan stood in the only male circle. With a sudden understanding, he looked around at his companions. All young or in their early twenties, they were the perfect matches for the giggling girls. John Fletcher had just inherited a title and lands, and the rest were comfortably situated and the perfect age to be looking for brides.

A second eruption of giggles turned his attention once more to the girls. As he locked eyes with Vivian's, the orchestra began to play. Without a conscious thought, he found himself beside Vivian. "May I have the honor of this dance?" Although the music still played and couples still moved for the dance floor…silence seemed to reign.

"Of course your grace," Vivian said, a smile gracing her face as she gently placed her hand in his. As they joined the forming setts, Lochlan felt every eye on them. "You seem a bit uncomfortable Lochlan,"

His name on her lips brought Lochlan back to the dance. "I rarely leave the king's side during these balls…and I never dance."

Her astonishment was obvious. "Never? Surely you don't mean that."

"It's the truth. I have never before had the desire to participate in any of these social functions deemed necessary by the rich. Before now they have held no appeal for me."

As the dance began to move, Lochlan was glad that it allowed little conversation, but rather let him take his fill of her presence.

Slowly the dance ended and Lochlan offered her his arm once more. The silence reigned only until he had safely deposited her back among the young ladies…the ballroom broke into hushed whispers, gaining in volume until the sound within the giant stone room resounded in Lochlan's ears, grating on his nerves. Every glance, every word, bombarded him silently, each attacking Vivian at the same time.

Shooting a quick glance her way, he mentally assured himself that Vivian would come to no harm if he left for a moment to compose himself. Without a word, he left the group of young men, causing them to startle. Moving quickly, but without seeming rushed, he cut through the speculating crowd.

The night air was cool on his face as he rested his forehead on the pillar in a small alcove. He forced his breath to slow down, to compose himself. He was Lochlan Chael, the king's right hand man…a mob of twittering idiots shouldn't cause him to run.

But it had.

* * *

Kiefer watched as Lochlan exited the ballroom. He doubted that even the assassin knew what power he had over others with the face he wore, and the king was surprised that none of the woman swooned at the sight.

Catching Morven's eye, he nodded to the dance floor where Vivian stood once again, dancing with another young man. The king smiled, ready to play this game to best benefit him. Morven stood the most to gain if he won the chit's hand, but as the king, Lochlan would be bound even tighter to him if he were married. There would be a whole new level of pressure to perform, at risk of his wife's life. There were many ways to twist a man…and Lochlan had long been immune to the king's pressuring…but no longer. He'd seen the way Lochlan had looked at her, and the fact that he had danced with her told him everything. Lochlan had fallen, and had fallen hard. The beast had fallen for the beauty.

* * *

Morven gulped, this was his chance, the king had caught his eye and given him the signal. Lochlan was somewhere else, not carefully watching Vivian. Clenching his hand into a fist, he calmed his erratic breathing. He had nearly cursed when Chael had taken Vivian to the dance floor. It had been his hope to dance with her first…before that cursed duke made it impossible for him to get a word in with her.

The workings of court were such that as a man such as Duke Chael, if he even sneezed in a direction of a girl, pretty or not, everyone declared her the season's catch. The fact that the duke had danced with her, the Duke of Claymore no less, made Vivian the center of attention.

The very atmosphere had changed as Lochlan had walked to her. It had been charged with apprehension and wonder…now it was charged with speculation and jealously.

Many women had been hoping for years to catch the duke's eye. Even before many of them were married, and even the married ones, they had been chasing the King's Commander from one room to the next. It was rare that the duke ever stepped off the dais and away from the king at social functions such as this…but Morven knew that Lochlan would not give up. He should have expected that he would mark his territory.

But Morven had no wish to fight clean…he was going dirty.

The final strains of music were finishing, as Morven approached Vivian, pushing through the crowd. Before anyone could step in, Morven held out his hand. "I would be honored if you would consent to dance the next set with me."

Trapped between him and the next admirer, she had no chance to say no. Graciously she took his offered hand, and he spun her out onto the floor. Glee leapt within his chest as the notes of a waltz stirred the crowd into joining. He grinned maliciously at Lochlan as he reentered the ballroom from one of the arched entry ways. Pulling his eyes away, he shuddered, touched by the fire that had sparked in the duke's eyes.

Morven knew the duke hated him, but in that moment, everything seemed to stand still…he felt Lochlan's gaze burn into his back searing his displeasure into his mind forever. A shiver flowed through the room and the lights seemed to dim. Morven threw a glance over his shoulder, again he caught Lochlan's eye. The room seemed to shrink. People unconsciously moved away and the merriment leaked from the room.

"Morven," he heard her voice as if she was far away, "Morven!"

Breaking eye contact, he felt the world rush back into place. Disoriented he stumbled forward, pitching into Vivian. She stepped back, barely keeping her balance, but he rushed head long into the couple directly behind her, sending them all crashing to the floor. The dance broke into chaos, and striding through the throng, the very image of an avenging angel, Lochlan strode to Vivian, his eyes only seeing her.

Furiously Morven pushed himself from the floor, sputtering in rage. Intercepting Lochlan before he could offer his hand to Vivian, Morven sneered at him. "Excuse me, sir." He spit the title as if it were poison, but tapered off as Lochlan turned his smoldering gaze to him once more.

"If you have a shred of self-perseverance left, you will not address me again tonight or lay a finger on Vivian. Do I make myself clear?" The whispered threat hung in the air between them…what seemed like forever was in truth only mere seconds before Morven nodded, submissively moving out of the way.

* * *

Vivian watched as Morven meekly moved out of the way, allowing Lochlan to pass. She had never seen his as cowed as he was now…his head hung dejectedly but with still enough anger that his eyes flashed dangerously. Whatever Lochlan had whispered to him, Morven wasn't happy; resigned maybe, but not happy.

The room slowly returned to normal, but as she glanced around, she caught the king's eye. The nod he gave her was so slight she thought perhaps she had imagined it, but the accompanying calculated grin…there was no mistaking that as chance. But before she could do anything, Lochlan leaned down to her ear. "Had you decided which of your suitors is to take you to dinner? The king will be announcing it shortly."

Smiling sweetly at him, she took his hand in hers. "You of course."

The look he gave her penetrated deep into her feelings, he doubted his hold on her, she could see it in his eyes. Deep inside her, she knew…she loved him. But he didn't think that that was possible. Something was keeping him from her…something that no one could break down but him. Her years as a healer told her this. Lochlan had inner demons that would not let him find happiness until they were put to rest. Demons she could do nothing about.

The ballroom fell silent as the king stood, "My friends! Dinner is served!"


	20. Chapter 20

"We're at a celebration for heaven's sake! You want me to remove him for you in the middle of your gala?" Lochlan stormed. Removing a potential threat at his house were there were not hundreds of witnesses was one thing…killing in the middle of a ball…that was another.

"Yes. My sources have told me that he is getting greedy in his age, and he is trying to take the throne from me and ensure that it goes to his oldest son. I would rather not wake up to some unpleasant surprise he has planned for my demise. Remove him tonight." The king intertwined his fingers and rested his head on his hands.

The deep brown, oak desk separated the king and his assassin, but he knew that if he really wanted to, the desk would be little trouble to circle, or even vault. But he couldn't; no matter how much he fantasized about wringing the king's neck, the cord around that same neck prevented him from physically harming the pitiful man before him.

Folding his arms, Lochlan looked straight into Kiefer's eyes. "And if I refuse?"

Lochlan didn't flinch as the pain tore through him. Instead he calmly looked at the token the king had taken from his shirt, tied to the cord around his neck. It was a wolf tooth etched with magic runes. "You forget that I can control you. Your tooth enables me to command you. You will obey me." A feral glint entered the king's eye, and Lochlan looked on uncertain. "But you resist this pain, you have trained yourself to do so…but you have another weakness…the woman. Vivian, I'm sure that a nice damp cell in the dungeon would help cool your temper…"

Lochlan stood. "He will be dead tonight."

"I thought as much."

* * *

Lochlan waited in silence. The old count really should be dead by now. In doing his research, he knew that the man had escaped death more than once over his many years. Boar hunts, falls, swords, and other dangerous things marked his life like sand on the beach. He really should be left to die of natural causes, but the man did seem to have nine lives.

As he waited, he shook his head in disgust. He had told himself that he would no longer do this, that he would tell the king to find someone else. The thought of physical pain the token gave him was not a determent., he wanted to leave this life, and he had trained himself with pain. There was no physical pain he couldn't take. But the thought of Vivian, cold and alone in the cells below the castle…that had filled him with horror; the king knew it would.

Lochlan had been furious the night before. Morven had overstepped his bounds…in more ways than one. Vivian may not be his in name yet, but she was his. Even as his soul made a promise to his heart, that he would win her…his victim stepped into the room. His anger gave him a cold edge of ruthlessness. If he could not physically harm Morven, why not destroy the man before him? What is one man compared to another?

Yet even as he thought this his soul knew a difference. This man had done nothing to him, yet he was now a walking corpse. He may have survived for many years, seen many wars and bloodshed…but he had never seen a force quite like Lochlan.

Assessing the situation, the assassin in him took over. Silently he moved from one corner to the other, shadowing his intended with lethal grace that gave no alerting sound. Even his breathing was one with the man before him.

The shadows lengthened, but the predator still hesitated in what he knew he must do. The fire flickered in the grate, telling of his passage, but the man neither saw nor heard a thing. Dust settled on newly trodden stone, but no one would ever see it. The curtain breathed a shallow breath, but it was not wind that moved it. The door creaked…

Silent as a shadow, and as quick as a humming bird's wing, the man lay dead at the assassin's feet, his eyes staring across time, his breath stilled. The sun dipped below the horizon…coloring the room blood red, but the stain below his feet was more vibrant...deeper.

Anguish washed through him, and another piece of his already shattered soul broke off, slivering until nothing remained.

The anguish wracked his body until he was more beast than man.

A howl split the air…the man ceased to exist.

* * *

Kiefer lifted his head from the parchment before him, the report mattered little to him now as the mournful sound of a lone wolf rolled through the castle corridors. The threat was gone, and the duke had once again been informed of the fact that the king controlled the kingdom and every life within. Lochlan was merely his chess piece. Perhaps a rook or even a queen, but he was only one more piece in the grand pattern of life…life controlled by the king just as the most important piece on the chess board what the king.

Carefully he put the parchment into the candles flame. He watched as the fibers twisted and curled, burning…seeming to writhe in a contorted dance. He smiled. Thus would each of his enemies perish. In a rabid torrent of heat and flame…slaughtered like the swine they were.

It would not be long now…his sorcerers where even now working to divine the secrets of life. The secrets of that small flame which sputtered no matter how dully in every human.

A knock on his door pulled his mind from his malicious contemplations.

"Enter."

"Sir," a guardsman entered, pulling in with him a city trollop. "I brought what you asked for."

Grinning slyly, he nodded. "You may go." Standing, he maneuvered around the desk. Taking a strand of the woman's hair between his fingers, he brushed the hair from her face. She was the right size, and her face was not angled sharply…she would do. "Come Morven, it is time for your first lesson in the dark arts."

Morven strode from the shadows. "You are certain this will allow me to get even with the duke?"

"Patience. Master this and you will master him." The king murmured. Taking hold of the woman's hand, Morven moved after his king, still skeptical. After many flights of descending stairs, both Morven and the woman began to be irritated. Kiefer could feel the change in the air, their moods intertwining around him. "We're almost there, that door there is where we are headed."

Hearing the sigh of relieved frustration from behind him, the king smiled. "We're here." Throwing the door open, Morven's eyes grew wide as he took all of it in. The woman's eyes got bigger, horrified. She tried to run, but the mages within stopped her with magic, she made nary a sound. Kiefer's eyes glittered evilly in the dim lamp light.

A clack of irons and a scream echoed through the stone halls, "Welcome to your worst nightmare."

Morven swallowed hard.


	21. Chapter 21

Vivian stood in a corner, trying to hide herself from the prying eyes of court. It was flattering to be the center of so much attention, but it wore a person down. She knew that she was an oddity here, an outsider. She didn't own land or a title, nor was she rich. Many of the young women, who had been so open to her, had turned their backs on her after the ball and had left her alone in an unforgiving and cold castle.

Warm feeling clashed with the cold atmosphere…Lochlan had made the difference. In speaking with some of the women, Lochlan's assertion held true…and caused the problem. Lochlan had long been considered the prime catch for any female…young or old. He never danced, he never mingled…and yet, the night before the Duke of Claymore had singled out one woman, and had danced not one, but two dances with her and slighted every other female in the room. Vivian became public enemy number one.

And now she hid from all the prying eyes and relived the moment when Lochlan had looked at her. There had been something in his eyes, some deep emotion that she could not comprehend. But whatever it had been, it made her feel cherished. Opening her eyes, she groaned. She had fallen in love with a man she barely knew. She had learned many things about him, but there was always something that he kept aloof, locked away.

The pillar before her hid her face, but she knew that they would not hide her tears. Quickly, she ran from the room. She ran past the servants and into her room, where she buried her face in one of the plush bed pillows. Her tears where hot, fast, and furious; sobs wracked her body.

A knock on the door went unheeded as nostalgia coursed through her. She didn't hear the door open, or the footsteps, but she felt the warm hand smooth her hair, and the bed dip under his weight as he sat down. "Why do you cry Vivian?"

The sound of Lochlan's voice only made her tears worse. How could she tell him that she loved him, and bear the fact that he did not love her back? That even if she picked him over Morven, for now her soul knew she would never truly love Morven, that he would be marrying her against his will. Without a word, he pulled her up and looked into her eyes, his hand under her chin. "What is it? Why are you so distressed?"

"How do you do it? How do you spend each year here? Knowing that everyone in the room is judging you, and is watching your every move?"

Using his thumb, he wiped the tears from her cheeks. His eyes softened as he looked into hers, "I have lived like this my whole life. If you take enough of the poison from the time you are but a little child, you can pretend you are immune to every dart thrown at you, every bite or slap that lands. I won't say that it's easy, or that it's worth it. If I could I would spend every minute in Claymore…but I can't. I'm sorry for once again dragging you into this mess. If I hadn't been selfish, you wouldn't be here."

Her sobs turned to hiccups. "Selfish? How were you selfish?"

"Shh. Don't think on it."

"But,"

"Say no more." His voice was still soft, but held authority. "Freshen up and meet me in the great hall, we shall go for a ride before the races start this evening."

Vivian smiled, his presence was like a calming balm on her frayed nerves. He hesitated a moment more, his gaze roving her face before he stood. Taking her hand in his, he lightly kissed her knuckles, barely brushing his lips to her skin. "Twenty minutes."

Then he was gone.

* * *

He was an idiot.

Lochlan stormed down the hallway, a murderous look on his face despite the pleasure coursing through him at the chance to spend time with Vivian. The beast inside him reared, demanding retribution. The sane part of him held him back. It was his own fault Vivian stood under the onslaught of vicious whispers and speculations. If he had only let her go before all of this had happened.

_Then Morven would have her._

The thought built rage like no other inside of him. Morven had overstepped once too often. The loss of Morovia had irked Lochlan…the threat to Vivian infuriated him. But he was an idiot in believing that Vivian could ever love him. He knew that she liked him enough to dance with him, laugh with him, and even show him her tears, but he doubted that even someone such as she could love the monster that he was.

He didn't know what he would do if she chose Morven over him though. The king was giving her a choice…a forced one…but a choice. Her choice could kill him more effectively than a knife to the heart, or let him live beyond all the pain in the world…but she needed to know the truth.

As he stood next to his wardrobe, his nails digging into the wood, he rested his head on the oak. He must tell her…or risk losing her forever.

Taking a deep and calming breath, he freshened up and started down the stairs to wait for Vivian. Midnight needed to be stretched out for the race this evening. As he passed a window, he glanced outside. There was a fine layer of snow, but it would melt off as the day got warmer, a benefit of being closer to the coast.

The servants moved silently out of his way, as he walked down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he waited. The sounds of the castle washed over him, making him almost believe he was back in Claymore. The thud of booted feet reached his ears long before he heard Henry.

"The horses are ready and saddled. But I would be careful with the two of them…someone cut one of the straps to another's saddle today." Lochlan looked at Henry sharply. "Don't worry sir, I checked your straps and Vivian's carefully. Midnight is on guard. No one will approach him and Firefreeze."

"Thank you Henry. Was the other rider hurt?"

"No, he caught it before he mounted. It was a sloppy job." As Henry shook his head, droplets of water from thawed snow flew, a few sprinkling Lochlan. Then, with a serious face, Henry maneuvered so that none of the servants could hear his voice as he whispered to Lochlan. "Is Vivian alright? One of the servants said that she fled the parlor crying."

"No. The weight of the court is riding on her. She has never been in this environment. Their poison is taking its toll on her."

Henry nodded, understanding completely. "Then you must stay near her and guard her with your presence."

"That is what did most of the damage last night, my interest in her created an army of jealous terrors. They will tear her to pieces if I continue to go near her." His hand clenched into a fist. "Henry this isn't working. First my mother, then my father, and now her…I hurt everyone I love! I'm more than a monster in flesh! I'm one in spirit."

Henry's eyes blazed, "Lochlan, listen to me. You are not a monster. The fact that you care makes it impossible to be one! You love Vivian do you not?"

"Of course I do? What sort of twisted question is that?" He snapped.

"And you love her enough to look past any faults that she may have?" Lochlan opened his mouth to speak, but Henry continued, "Why would she not do the same for you?"

"Because she isn't bound in spirit and blood to a monster and a monster of a man!" He gritted out, think of himself and of the token in the king's hand. He was a monster condemned to obey the will of another. "Because she is a healer...she saves in her mercy. I am an assassin…I kill without mercy."

"I cannot help you save yourself if you are unwilling to see the other possibilities." Bowing to Lochlan, Henry left, and returned to the horses.

Lochlan stood there, waiting for Vivian, the conversation echoing around in his head. So completely engrossed in his thoughts, he started violently at Vivian's touch.

She quickly withdrew her hand, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"It is I who must ask forgiveness." Bowing he held his arm out to her, "Are you ready?"

Her smile filled him with pleasure. He may be a monster, but he knew how to enjoy the small things.

* * *

Henry watched as Lochlan and Vivian rode away. They were made for each other. The curse placed upon Lochlan even said it so…_ Till one of healing tender…_even if Lochlan couldn't see it, he could. His master deserved to be happy, as did his healer. Opening a locket he wore around his neck, he looked at the picture of his daughter, Carol. "The assassin's healer. One day it shall make a great ballad, but only if Lochlan will accept the fate's designs." The wind blew through the trees, and he hugged the locket close. "I hear you Carol."

Looking up, he allowed a single tear to fall.

* * *

Morven stood, watching with fascinated horror as the mage put the final touches on the simulacrum's hand. It was perfect in every way. Breaking his gaze away from the scene before him, he looked to the king.

"You saw them ride out together. You know who she will pick."

"Aye your highness, I know. But this…this will take at least a month to finish…"

"Yes, and the engagement must be announced and the proper time waited. You will have your revenge, and I will keep my assassin. He is becoming soft." Snarled the king, his eyes consuming the sight before him. He was losing his assassin to a pair of pretty eyes and soft hands. Those eyes and soft hands would be his undoing…Morven was only a pawn, in which Kiefer would sacrifice to gain his queen back.

Silently he left the ancient room behind him as he walked up the many flights of stairs, fingering the token around his neck. The same black sorcerers who slaved deep beneath the castle now, where the same that had bound Lochlan to him. But even know they were working on the next step. Kiefer wanted to own Lochlan's spirit as well as his allegiance; when the final curtain dropped, Lochlan would be the assassin that went down in history as the cruelest and most ruthless. Kiefer would be unstoppable.

* * *

Midnight gnawed at the bit between his teeth, and pawed the ground. He wasn't trained to sit still, and Lochlan smiled at his impatience, Midnight was much like his master.

The chaos of the race preparations however, did not phase Firefreeze as the two horses stood together. Vivian sat upon her mount just as calm and collected as the dark bay beneath her. Lochlan watched as she moved instinctively with her horse as she changed positions, but another rider caught his eye.

Henry moved through the crowd, guiding his horse with his legs, barely using the reigns. Nodding to Lochlan when he got close enough, the duke returned his nod. "Vivian, the race is getting ready to start, if you will come with me, I know the best place to watch the race."

The smile that split Vivian's face brightened the air around her. "But of course. Just one moment." Lochlan watched as Henry turned his horse around, and Vivian brought Firefreeze closer to Midnight. "This is not a joust…so I cannot give you a favor to wear around your arm, however I can give you this."

Lochlan froze as she leaned across the space separating them and placed a kiss on his cheek. Time stretched and his blood caught fire. She withdrew quickly and pushed Firefreeze into a quick trot with her heels. Before he could stop himself, he called out to her, "If that is for luck, what do I get if I win?"

She glanced over her shoulder, wearing an impish smile. "You'll just have to win and see your grace." Then she was gone, lost in the crowd.

His cheek burned pleasantly in the chilly air, reminding him of her actions, and the seed of hope within him grew as he pulled the reigns and cantered towards the starting line. He had joined the race to impress Vivian, but now he was determined to win the race, so that he may claim his prize, whatever that impish smile had promised him.

The creak of leather tack and the huff of the horses' breath filled the air. The rules were read, and the contestants read aloud. He scanned the area for Vivian, but saw no sign of either her or Henry. Assuming they had traveled farther down the race course, he returned his attention to the announcer and listened as each name brought a cheer from the gentleman's cronies.

As his name was read aloud, silence reigned and Lochlan allowed himself a small smile. He was alone, but Vivian had kissed his cheek and that would last him through the race. Patting Midnight's neck, he leaned down to the horse's ear. "We're going to win this race for Vivian."

Midnight snorted and stomped the ground as he tossed his head back and forth. The other horses shied away from the giant war horse, and Lochlan schooled his face into an indifferent expression. It would not do to let others see his pleasure.

"Riders! On the ready!" called the servant, holding aloft a red flag, "Go!"

Midnight's haunches bunched and sprang. Within a few steps, the black was leaving behind the rest of the horses. As his hooved pounded in mile eating strides, Lochlan scanned the ground before him, searching for pot holes and mud pools.

Slowly a few of the horses gained some of the initially lost ground. Midnight snorted as his head and neck thrust forward with each powerful step he took.

Lochlan felt alive, and for once in his life…free. With the memory of Vivian's kiss and the wind in his hair, he felt a burden lift from his soul. His body fell in rhythm with Midnight, each jump they made together, each step was corded with the power of the horse and the rider.

Midnight sensed the danger before Lochlan, but kept running. Lochlan tensed a moment later, listening to the silence of the woods. It meant only one thing…predators. Leaning low over Midnight's neck, Lochlan whispered into his ear. "Run, get us far from here."

Midnight's muscles bunched tighter, bunched faster. The graceful stride gave away to one born of power. Rather than grace, there was brawn. Lochlan searched the trees for a threat, but he couldn't see one and he dared not stop. The rider's behind him slowed, their mounts sensing the danger.

As leaves and bark flashed past him, he heard rather than saw the first arrow. He bent lower, streamlining himself with Midnight. He heard the twang of two more bows, and watched as the arrows imbedded themselves into the ground with a loud thud.

Gritting his teeth, Lochlan assessed the arrow. It was not heavy enough to be a cross bow, but it was long enough to be a long bow. He saw the end of the forest at the same moment Midnight lunched to the side, nearly throwing him from the saddle. Blinding pain erupted in his thigh, and Midnight launched himself into a gallop once more.

Lochlan glanced down at his leg. The arrow embedded into his thigh was definitely a longbow's doing. His leg throbbed as Midnight continued to gallop. The finish line was in sight, but Lochlan felt himself falling unconscious, losing ground to the blackness.

His head lolled, and he fought to keep his senses. He felt Midnight come to a stop, and hands pulling him from the saddle. Forcing his eyes open, the last thing he saw was Vivian's fear stricken face, her hand clasped in his.


	22. Chapter 22

Vivian glared at the offending arrow laying on the wash stand besides Lochlan's bed. Henry had told her to keep it so that Lochlan could inspect it upon waking; she wanted to burn it. Two days before, when Midnight had come galloping through the finish line, with Lochlan nearly unconscious, Vivian had been furious.

She had been furious Kiefer had allowed a race to happen when he knew hunters had been in the forest. Yet she had been relieved the arrow punctured cleanly and had not damaged a vital organ. The king had apologized profusely, explaining that he wanted venison for dinner…so he had sent his hunters out. However, as Lochlan had been the only one fired upon…she doubted the king's story. But for her safety and Lochlan's she had pretended to buy the story, nodding and conceding that it was a tragedy.

Vivian had spent two days by his bed side, trickling water into his mouth when he broke from the blackness long enough to swallow, and replacing the bandages on his leg. Henry was constantly in and out of the room. He rarely spoke, rather he allowed Vivian to tell him her of Lochlan's condition. But while Lochlan's continued unconsciousness worried Vivian, there was one rule Henry was adamant about…that she be out of Lochlan's room by dusk.

* * *

Lochlan came to, his head pounding and his leg throbbing. An uncomfortable weight on his arm caused him to shift, with little success. The weight rested on his arm, prohibiting movement. He glanced over, surprised to see Vivian's black hair spilling over the sheets, her head resting on his arm.

By the smooth, even breaths she was taking, Lochlan knew she was asleep. He ignored the pain in his body, and watched her slumber. Her lashes rested on her cheeks, and her lips were parted slightly, giving her a look of sweet innocence. He smiled, enchanted by the scene before him, then suddenly frowned.

He knew that it was his bed he was stretched out on because as he looked around the room, the duke recognized it as his. Lochlan frowned because Vivian slept by his bedside without anyone else in the chamber. The thought had barely solidified before Henry opened the door and slipped in.

Upon seeing his master awake, he grinned. "Vivian said you should most likely wake today. Come I brought you some food."

Lochlan's stomach grumbled as Henry put the tray besides the bed. Whatever was beneath the silver cap, smelled wonderful, but he forced himself to look Henry in the eye, "Why is Vivian asleep here? How long has she been here? How long have I been out?" "_Did she see me as a monster?"_

Henry shook his head, "Sir, one at a time. Vivian has been nursing you back to health. That arrow looks as if it might have been poisoned. She's stayed with you for the past two days, only leaving to sleep just before dusk." Henry said, answering the unspoken question. "I have gotten her to eat but little." Gesturing towards the tray, he spoke again, a smile in his voice, "Only part of that is for you."

"How long has she been like this?"

"Sleeping? Today she's been there for the better part of an hour."

Lochlan looked at Vivian again, loathe to wake her, he nodded to Henry. "Help me sit up, I don't want to wake her." Once he was upright, Lochlan looked to the tray, "Give me some of that and then tell me what's been happening around court."

* * *

Vivian's neck hurt from laying in position for so long, but that wasn't what woke her. The rhythmic stroking on the back of her hand continued. She opened her eyes and looked around. Still in Lochlan's room, her torso was still lying on the bed where she had fallen asleep. Through sleep fogged eyes, she took in Lochlan, who was upright and talking to Henry. Her hand lay in his lap, his thumb stroking circles on the back.

The feeling was pleasurable and she enjoyed it, however her neck did hurt, and she needed to move. Slowly she sat up, leaving her hand in his lap for as long as possible. Lochlan glanced away from Henry for a moment, giving her a smile that warmed her. It gratified her as a healer that he was sitting, but her gratitude went beyond a healer's.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked Lochlan, addressing him directly.

He glanced to the window and then back at her. "Maybe an hour?"

She nodded, "How does your leg feel?"

"It hurts, but as far as I can tell it's not infected or inflamed." Then with a grin, he cheerfully asked, "Do I pass muster?"

She returned his smile, "For the moment, but I don't want you walking on it for at least another day, perhaps more."

He smiled at her, showing his teeth as he mock saluted her. "Aye mistress healer, but will the king allow me that much reprieve? Henry has said he is already chafing at my two day bed rest."

Vivian's gaze turned serious, "He had better, unless he wishes to deal with me."

Henry raised an eye brow, Lochlan chuckled. She caught a glint in his eye as he turned to speak with Henry. The manservant nodded and stood, bowing to Vivian as he exited the room. She watched him go before an awareness prickled at the back of her neck. Lochlan sat in the bed smirking. "What?"

"I won. What's my prize?" Lochlan's face was serious; the mirth previously dancing across his face was absent, hidden behind a smooth calm.

Vivian swallowed, her previous calm gone. When she had kissed him so brashly before, Vivian hadn't thought that he would demand the winning prize he had saucily asked her for. Now she balked, and cast about for something witty to say. "Perhaps your prize was my healing you."

"But that wasn't planned…unless you meant for me to take that arrow," he let his voice tapper off suggestively.

"I did not!" She stopped herself from saying more because even as she spoke he allowed a smile to break through his demeanor.

"So what is my prize? I was coherent enough to know that I won." He must have saw her edging out of the chair, for his warm hand enfolded hers, pulling her back down into the seat. "Oh no you don't. I'm on bed rest thanks to the doctor's orders, and I'm not sitting here without company."

"You sent Henry away, he could have kept you company." Her voice wavered and she cursed herself for being weak. For in truth she would love nothing better than to sit with Lochlan and enjoy his presence, however, the wall around her heart was weak. She knew she loved him, which was the reason Vivian couldn't stay. It was a reason she could never tell him. For if the wall was down, there would be no replacing it.

"I needed him to do some things for me. Besides it's not his company that I wanted." His eyes met hers, and she felt herself sitting back down.


	23. Chapter 23

**So, like I said before, I started this story like four years ago. I roughly remember where I was going with the storyline. Forgive me if I stumble on my way there. I literally have hundreds of little paper scraps with pieces of story scribbled on them. I'm trying to get back into the characters.  
**

**I know this is a very short chapter, but I just wanted to say thank you to **_Silver Inklett _**and a couple guest reviewers! I was just going to put Chapters 1-22 up and let it be, but their reviews have made me want to keep going with it! Summer project here I come! :) **

**More coming soon! I pinky promise!**

* * *

The king paced around the chamber, rubbing his jaw harshly as he tried to calm his irritation. Morven cowered in a chair next to the hearth, nervously rubbing his hands together. "You botched that one superbly." Morven jumped slightly at the angry statement. "You were supposed to hit the horse."

"I...I didn't expect the huntsmen to be so..." Started Morven, his voice slowly fading into silence under the King's glare.

"You do realize where this puts you? The moment that blasted little herb wench of yours finds out what that arrow was laced with, both she and Lochlan will want your blood." The anger in his eyes suddenly disappeared, as if there was nothing wrong. Cold chills ran through Morven.

Smiling a small dark smile he fingered the fang hung around his neck. "It will only be a matter of time. I don't always keep tabs on the monster."

Morven's face went white, finally comprehending the true danger. The king was powerful in his own right, but it was the monster he controlled that gave him power. If Vivian did identify the poison on the arrow, she'd know the attack was linked to him. It was his own personal poison, one she'd be able to recognize. His mind flashed back to conversations with the king. The king's insistence to stick to the plan, the poison, and the final key. The unanswered questions and buried doubts suddenly became more important, more critical. He didn't know the King's endgame. He didn't know his true part to play in this twisted plot. His eyes widened as he looked to the king standing before him, that same dark smile still glued to his face.

"I see you're finally understanding. Lochlan would have caught on much quicker, only proves I chose the right one. If you'd only thought this through, maybe you'd have more to bargain with." He walked past the wide eyed Morven, moving towards the door. "Do exactly as I say, and your life may be spared. The preparations are almost ready."

The door opened and shut, a gust of wind fanning life into the dying flame before snuffing it out. Morven sat slumped in the plush chair, unfeeling, staring into the darkness. He had been so blind. His burning desire, his want for revenge on the Duke had blinded him to the true threat - the king. He was in too deep. There was no escape. He was tied to the king's will just as surely as Lochlan. He fingered the markings burned into the flesh of his forearm. He'd made a mistake.

Grunting, he pushed himself from his seat. If he played his cards right, he could still scrape out alive. He'd done it once before against Lady Hartshorne, he could do it again. This time though, it would be much harder to tread the fine line between life and death. Between the king and his assassin.


	24. Chapter 24

**So, just curious. This chapter brought something to mind that I'd forgotten. I have this land called Elsterin and a land called Toroch. They are next to each other, sorta the same continent and in my "world" they have a history together. Well, in this chapter and in previous chapters, it references events that take place in another story I wrote when I was in middle school. (Remember this is an old story I decided to resurrect) **

**Would readers be interested in seeing that other story? **

**Also, thanks for the reviews everyone! They mean so much to me! **

* * *

A few days had passed, and Lochlan was restless and ready to leave his bed. Vivian had spent much of her time closeted in her room or in his, away from prying eyes and cruel tongues, but Lochlan felt the stress. He could feel her fear and anxiety, see it in her eyes even when she tried to hide it. Sometimes he thought there was something else hidden, something warm, but it was always out of reach overshadowed by the fear.

He missed the carefree, sometimes shy Vivian he'd come to know. This jittery, frightened Vivian put him on edge. Every night he felt worthless, as Henry kindly shuffled her from the room. Every night he changed, only to lay panting in agony until the sun rose. Henry did his best to keep him comfortable at night, but there was little he could do except redo the bandages.

Lochlan longed to feel the outside air, to be free of the confining stone walls that surrounded him. His dreams were nightmares of walled corridors, darkened halls, and wedding bells. He'd limp down the torturously endless halls, blood dripping from his wound, following the smell of sage, calling her name into the silent corridors. Then he'd find a door, and in a burst of blinding light he'd enter a chapel to cheers and bells. Sometimes it was Morven or the king, sometimes some unknown face, blissfully standing next to a veiled bride. The bride would turn and he'd see a flash of green eyes and he'd wake up in cold sweat angry and terrified.

He needed to get Vivian away from the prying, greedy eyes of the king.

He wanted her away from Morven.

He needed her.

He couldn't have her.

He couldn't let Morven have her.

He couldn't let the king touch her.

* * *

The king had made himself known days following the accident, coming to "wish" the invalid better. He had strode around the room, disdainfully looking at anything that caught his eye.

"Such a pity you can't enjoy the merriment, the feasts, the tournaments. Your admirers who've noticed your absence of late." He fingered something above the fireplace before picking up a crystal ball and seating himself. "It's too bad that arrow didn't hit your horse instead."

His eyes narrowed, "Do you need something your highness?" Lochlan growled, his irritation rising. The king had come to take an opportunity to see Lochlan in his hindered state. Lochlan knew he wasn't' there for a social call.

"I think the same question should be asked of you. My physician is of course at your beck and call, I can send him in to have a look at that leg." The sickeningly sweet display made him shudder with revulsion. He declined.

The pleasantries dropped like a brewing storm finally breaking on the cliffs. "Enough of this." Snapped the king, his control barely there. "I'm sick of this wench. She has turned enough heads and delayed me long enough. I am ready to move into Elsterin and take back the land which is rightfully mine." He stood, placing both hands violently on the footboard. "You will be there."

Without waiting for an answer, the king stormed from the room, dropping the crystal ball on the floor with a look of utter disgust.

Lochlan glanced at the window, noting the midmorning was no doubt in his mind, the king had ordered those men into the woods. The arrow was his doing. Whether as a warning or as a failed assassination attempt, the king and possibly Morven, was behind it. It irritated him, chaffed him that the king knew he knew and didn't care. Hate burned within.

Lost in his dark thoughts, he didn't hear the door open or see Vivian step in and hesitate a few steps into the room, sensing his anger. She backed up, ready to leave but her heel kicked something, rolling it into the wall with a dull thud.

Lochlan's head snapped away from the window ready to verbally spar with the king, but the biting words died on his tongue.

Vivian turned to flee, "I'm sorry, I can come back later."

"No wait!" He levered himself from the bed, careful to avoid putting his full weight on his leg. The pain and desperation in his voice made her pause. "Please, I..."

"You shouldn't be out of bed!" Heedless of all else, Vivian rushed to Lochlan's side, gently supporting the arm not gripping the bedpost. "I don't think you should be walking yet."

A grunt of annoyance escaped him, "And how long should I not be walking? I need to leave this room. I'm not in the habit of staying indoors, nor in bed."

"Don't we all know that." Both Vivian and Lochlan's head snapped up. Henry stood in the doorway holding a breakfast tray. "When I couldn't find Miss Vivian in her room, I assumed she had come here." He turned to address Vivian specifically, "Would you like to dine here or in your room?"

She paused, looking up at Lochlan, remembering his irritation before. "I..um..."

"She'll eat here."

"Very well sir." He stepped into the room, placed the tray on the side table next to the bed, and left.

"I don't want to inconvenience you. You looked like you had something on your mind."

He smiled down at her, "Don't worry about it. It was nothing you need be concerned..." His voice trailed off as he looked at her tucked under his arm to support him.

Vivian's breath hitched and her heart skipped a beat. She was too close! His warm arm dropped from her shoulder, tightened around her and drew her in. His eyes were mesmerizing. The arm around her waist pulled her closer and his other hand brushed strands of hair away from her face. She felt his body shift and saw the pain wash across his face.


	25. Chapter 25

**Ah! Ok, I've written a couple stories, but I've never been brave enough to try to do a scene like this (SPOILER!) So really, let me know what you think. Good? Bad? Too forced? Not enough buildup?**

**I feel like my chapters are shorter and shorter, but I don't know how to transition them. Any suggestions?**

**But, enough said, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I can't wait until I get to the good parts in the next few chapters! AHHAH! :)**

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"Your leg! You shouldn't be standing!" Misunderstanding his frustrated groan, Vivian pulled away from him, quickly untangling herself from his grasp. "Come now, back on the bed." She pushed his chest gently, urging him to return to the bed. Slowly he let himself sit, taking the weight off his painful leg, but never letting his eyes leave her face. He caught her eye but she quickly looked away, blushing. "Henry brought food, I'm sorry to inconvenience everyone. I can eat in my room if you don't want company."

Lochlan frowned, noting the hesitation in her actions as she moved towards the breakfast tray. "Vivian, is somthing wrong? You're not inconveniencing anyone, why would you think that?"

She paused, frozen for what seemed like an eternity, unsure how to respond. Reaching out, he placed his hand on her arm. She startled, looking to him, her eyes haunting. His gut wrenched, her eyes held the same defeated look he saw every time he completed a mission. The moment before the end. Her normally expressive eyes were dull and fearful. The beast rose within him, demanding blood. Someone had caused that look. Someone would pay.

Vivian must have sensed his control slipping, for she tried to gently pull away. Clenching his teeth he pulled her closer until she stood between his legs. Forcing his voice to remain calm and reassuring, he gently spoke. "No one will hurt you. You have my word." Slowly, giving her ample time to pull away, he rested one hand on the small of her back and the other just below her jaw, his thumb reassuringly stroked her cheek.

Even with him sitting, Vivian barely stood taller than Lochlan allowing her to look him in the eye. The emotion reflected in his eyes were conflicted and it confused her. There was dark fury and hate that pierced through her, but there was also a gentle kindness. There was a warmth there akin to the way he now held her. Soft and reassuring, a promise that he would never hurt her.

Lochlan was so different from Morven. Morven was popular with the ladies and he knew it. He'd often used it to his advantage. She had considered herself lucky to have his love, if that was what it was. Morven was dedicated to himself always looking down on those who served him. Vivian knew that now, she could admit it to herself. She had been in love with an ideal, not the man himself.

But Lochlan was so different. He lived his life in the shadows, away from the court despite his rank and wealth. He cared for his servants as if they were family. He was loyal and dependable. His honor impeccable. There was so much more to this man before her than even she knew. At first she had blamed him, hating him for holding Master Rights and keeping her captive. But slowly, she had come to realize that the man behind the hard facade was kind and gentle in his own right.

She still didn't know why he had done what he did. She didn't understand where she was now, nor the forces that pulled them together. What she did know, was that she had fallen for the man who now held her gently. Vivan was in love with a man she knew so little about, and it was different. She had been infatuated with the idea of Morven, but there was something much deeper, much more tender in the man before her.

Lochlan watched as Vivian's eyes displayed a myriad of emotions. He felt her relax, her back becoming less rigid. Her eyes no longer held the haunted look, but held another emotion. His breath caught in his throat. She was his!

Fear rushed through him, killing his momentary elation. Vivian couldn't be his. He was a monster, a harbinger and deliverer of death. She was good and full of life. She would hate him and curse his name. If she ever found out she would run in fear and disgust, like his mother. He wouldn't subject her to that, nor would he give her to Morven.

His mind was racing, thoughts running rampant. Vivian could tell by the way his eyes no longer looked at her. For a moment, she thought he'd kiss her again, but that moment was lost to the dark thoughts that now creased his forehead and darkened his eyes.

Without thinking, hoping she had read his emotions truthfully, she leaned down, startling Lochlan.

Lochlan froze when her lips touched his and the beast inside came to life. Hungrily he kissed her back, his lips urging her beyond the timid kiss she had initiated. He stood, ignoring the pain in his leg. The hand on her back pulled her closer, and the one on her neck delved into her black tresses supporting her as they kissed.

She broke away first, panting for breath. The fire in her hooded eyes brought Lochlan back. Slowly he let her go, shakily stepping back, trying to regain any semblance of control. The bed behind him stopped him from backing up as far as he should have, they were still too close. His heart pounded and his breath was harsh in his ears.

He loved Vivian.

The knowledge both pained him and elated him.

They stood in silence trying to catch their breaths, unsure how to continue.

"Food." Lochlan's voice was deeper, more husky. Vivian smiled slowly, glad to know their kiss hadn't only affected her. She nodded, not trusting her voice. Turning once more to the breakfast tray, she took her time, positive that if she turned around to look in those eyes, she would be lost forever.

She fingered the delicate filigree on the dome of the tray, slowly tracing the beautiful work.

Lochlan watched as her fingers danced over the dome of the tray, similar to the time she had traced the etchings in his armor. He swallowed, trying to calm his racing heart. Each pass of her fingers reminded him of every time she had touched him. Always gentle, always cautious. Her touch was electric. Twice he had kissed her, and twice he had been the one to step away. His emotions were too open. He couldn't open himself to such weakness. The king had already seen some of his heart, hence the blasted game they now played. Lochlan or Morven. Neither a good choice.

He had to leave. He had to clear his head. He needed a plan, a way to get Vivian far away. The king wanted to attack Elsterin, Vivian couldn't be near the border. Vivian couldn't be near him. He couldn't leave her. He loved her.

"Vivian," his voice broke as she turned to look at him. "_To hell with it!" _he thought. Striding forward, heedless of his leg he pulled her close. The kiss was softer, more gentle than the previous. When he broke away, he kept her close and looked her in the eye. "I need to leave. Stay. Eat." When she looked like she'd protest, he kissed her again.

Breaking from her, he limped out of the room as fast as possible, knowing if he turned around he would never leave.

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**So...I don't really know where T rating ends and M rating begins. Do I need to change the rating on this? Any future kissy kissy won't be more explicit than this. What I'm worried about is if I add some more violence to the story, will it need to be rated M?  
**


	26. Chapter 26

**Sorry it's been so long since my last update! I've been super swamped with photo shoots and classwork. I'm getting excited for the upcoming chapters. I love these characters and sometimes it frustrates me that I'm not as good as I want to be at explaining their feelings.  
**

**I'm also going to change the rating to M. It won't be nearly as bad as some of the M stuff I've seen on here, but just to be safe for future chapters. **

**Also! REVIEWERS! I'd love some more feedback on the story. How it's going, if anything is confusing, ect. I'm doing my best to keep things straight, but I did start this story a few years ago. It's taking me some time to get back into the hang of things. I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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Once in the hall, Lochlan paused to breathe. He could feel his blood racing, causing the wound in his leg to throb in time with his heart. With one hand on the wall to support some of his weight, he began walking towards Vivian's room. There was something more to the fear in Vivian's eyes than before. The castle was a strange place filled with cruel and bitter people, but she'd adapted quickly. She knew how to keep her head up.

No, the fear he'd seen in her eyes only moments before was more personal. He'd seen it before. He'd caused it. He'd taken lives with it.

Once he reached his destination, he paused. The door to Vivian's room was slightly ajar. Frowning, he quickly pulled a slender knife from his boot, grateful he had dressed before Vivian's arrival that morning. Henry wouldn't have left the door ajar and it was too late for servants to be tending the fires, too early for them to be tossing the bed. There was someone else in the room.

Lochlan eased the door open, grateful that it swung inward in silence. Quickly, he scanned the room. There was no one in sight. He entered, ignoring the pain in his leg. He'd had worse, he'd finished missions with worse. Working methodically, careful to make no sound, Lochlan cleared the room.

Once sure that no one else was in the room, he stood at the foot of the bed, looking for anything abnormal. Nothing immediately caught his eye, this wasn't his room. He didn't know if things were out of place. He walked over to the wardrobe. Opening the wooden door he searched the dresses. Nothing.

Next he walked to the vanity. Various things were scattered across it. A perfume bottle, a hair brush, lotion. Nothing seemingly abnormal. Slowly he searched the rest of the room. Frustration mounted. There was something. There had to be something! Rather irritated, he searched the table next to the bed. Upon opening one of the drawers, he recognized the journal Vivian had once left inside his study. His irritation left. Vivian probably would have replaced anything this morning before Henry arrived.

He lifted the journal from the side table, wondering if he dared read the last entries. Surely she would have written if something was worrying her. He stroked the book's spine, hesitant.

"Well, I certainly didn't expect to see you here Chael." Lochlan stiffened at the sound of Morven's voice. He replaced the journal and carefully shut the drawer before turning towards the door he had left open. "Pray, tell me why are you snooping around Vivian's room? Aren't you supposed to be in bed? I hear that wound is pretty nasty."

Lochlan knew Morven was trying to goad him, and he had almost determined to keep his calm when he saw the breakfast tray in Morvens hands, three delicate red roses laid across the top. Fury rose within him at the way Morven leaned against the door frame, as if he belonged there. As if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be there. Morven must have seen the spark in his eyes, because he stood up and took a step back. Lochlan stepped around the bed, stalking towards Morven.

In that moment, watching Morven cower, he knew he couldn't give Vivian to the weak man before him. He would be selfish and take what was not his. Whatever she felt for him would be enough to last him forever. Yes, Vivian would grow to hate the monster that he was, but wouldn't subject her to bearing his cursed children, and Morven wouldn't have her. He would send her to Elsterin with Henry. They would go as far away as possible. If marriage was the only way to save her, they would marry. He would forever cherish the light she had given him, and he would send her way to protect that light. She would be his if only in name.

* * *

Morven backed further into the hall, fearing the angry determination in Chael's eyes. He hadn't expected Chael to be on his feet yet. The King had assured him that he would still be abed for the next few days. Long enough for Morven to make his move.

Every morning he had silently snuck into Vivian's room. The first night, he had moved the items on her vanity around. Not much, but just enough to plant a seed of doubt. The next night, he had left a white rose on her side table. The third night, he had taken a dress. It had been an odd request from the King, but he had done it, knowing he couldn't disobey.

This morning, he had hoped to be there to offer comfort, and breakfast. It seemed it was too late for that.

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Lochlan stepped into the hall, careful to close the door behind him. He advanced on Morven, half expecting him to run. He glanced at the tray between them, but something on Morven's arm caught his attention. Dread curled in the pit of his stomach. Without warning, Lochlan grabbed Morven's arm and pushed his sleeve up. The tray clattered to the ground, sending the roses and food down the hall.

Morven didn't react, stunned at Lochlan's abrupt movement. "Who did this?" Lochlan was furious. The burned flesh reminded Lochlan very much of his own tie to the King. The symbols were similar if not more gruesome.

Morven pulled his arm from Lochlan's grasp, quickly covering the marks with his sleeve and backing down the hall, "You of all people shouldn't have to ask." He spat, returning Lochlan's hard gaze.

Lochlan growled, before grabbing Morven by the lapels and slamming him against the wall. "What the hell are you planning? What does the king want?"

Morven's eyes went wide and he struggled to breathe. "I don't know!"

"Liar!" Lochlan hissed. "What do you know!"

"Nothing! The king keeps his own! I merely do as he says!"

Lochlan's mind reeled. Judging the age of the burn marks, they were only a few days old. His mind began piecing bits together. The race. The arrow. Vivian's unspoken fears. Morven's presence. The King's twisted sense of humor. His manipulation. The dark magic that bound both Lochlan and Morven. This game to win Vivian's hand. It all clicked into place. He returned his attention to Morven, "So you're a mere pawn? A nearly worthless piece in a game of chess. A sacrifice to ensure the best player's loyalty."

He laughed a dark laugh, void of mirth. "Vivian will never be yours." With disgust, he dropped Morven to the floor.

With a dark anger clouding his face, he walked away, leaving Morven sprawled against the wall, gasping for breath.

He would play the king's game, but he would play it in his own way.


End file.
